


Somewhere Over The Rainbow

by Heavenly_Stellar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Businessman Dean, Drama, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Fire, Floor Sex, Fluff, Hostage Situations, Hot Tub Sex, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Journalist Castiel, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Phone Sex, Rimming, Sexual Content, Single Parent Castiel, Top Castiel, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Stellar/pseuds/Heavenly_Stellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a dedicated single parent. He’s a freelancing journalist with a substantial inheritance and a complicated past love life. Dean Smith is a director of sales and marketing. He’s charming, promiscuous. Lonely. And completely unaware that he’s been looking for love.</p>
<p>The two meet on New Years Eve, make love and leave. And it just couldn't have been that simple, now, could it? They come to the realisation that they just can’t forget about each other and attempt to have a relationship while also dealing with their own busy lifestyles.</p>
<p>But how will their relationship fare under the pressure of an unexpected twist when someone from Cas' past decides to ruin him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What A Night

~*CASTIEL*~

 

Of all nights, it had to be New Years Eve in which Cas is cornered into going to a party. A party, which in fact, is to be hosted by his uncle for his construction company: _Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc_. No doubt that night an old lady will molest him or a businessman will interrogate him or his uncle will for the umpteenth time, bring up Cas’ deceased father and the accounting company that was bequeathed to him. Oh yes, there is a lot fun waiting for him at the party that—with a glance at his watch— he realizes he is late for.

“Pa!” came an insistent cry from the lounge room.

Cas catches his reflection in the electric kettle and pauses, inspecting his warped appearance. Blue, comically round eyes blink back at him. His brow puckers with a frown and his hands come up to tame down the dark, tousled mess his hair. Didn’t he just comb it five— ten minutes ago?

“ _Pa,_ I’m _hungry_ ,” his son whines, louder than before if that was possible.

Not a second later, the sound of the stampede of one five-year-old reaches Cas’ ears. Cas checks his wristwatch again. The babysitter, a college freshman named Meg, is hopelessly late. The microwave beeps: a shrill grating noise that drives Cas up the wall on most days. The door swings open once he gives it a sharp jab and the beeps stop. Small hands fist his trousers and tug incessantly as he reaches in the machine to retrieve the leftover macaroni and cheese he made from two nights ago.

“Paaa-aaaah,” the boy gripes from below. “Hungry!”

“Eugene,” Cas looks down at his son, radiant blue eyes and black, birds nest hair, he’s almost the spitting image of his father. “You’re pulling my pants down. Don’t.”

Eugene releases him reluctantly and scampers around restlessly as Cas moves to put the dish on the table. Fingertips burning, he blows on them. A strange bubbling sense of hope comes to life inside of him. If Meg doesn’t turn up, he can use the fact that he couldn’t leave Eugene by himself as an excuse to not go to the New Years Eve party. A chime echoes through the house— the front door bell. Cas’ heart drops.

“Meg!” Eugene lights up, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bolts from the room with a delighted giggle.

Cas too hurries; knowing that any good parent living in the city would never let their child answer the door. In the end he doesn’t have to worry as Eugene simply waits for him to catch up by the door. However, his hang is playing with the knob, impatient.

“Open the door, Pa!” Eugene pleads.

Cas rests one hand atop of his son’s head, fondly tangling his fingers through the soft locks while the other flicks the latch and Meg bulldozes in. She is the personification of a hurricane in Cas’ mind. Her jet black leather high-heeled boots track in mud and she gives them a simpering greeting of, “Hi, boys.”

Eugene wraps his arms around her legs in his form of embrace and looks up at her adoringly. Cas pushes the door closed and nervously wrings his hands together.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Cas says.

Meg arches a brow and grins, “Anything for you, Clarence.”

“Why do you keep calling me—?” Cas takes a deep breath, “Will you be able to stay till at least midnight? I should be home by then but…”

Meg hums thoughtfully; jaw working as she thinks it over. “Sure,” she eventually replies, “I can do that. Plus it’s not like I’m gonna leave your kid here all alone, what do you take me for? A heartless bit—” Cas glares a warning, and she corrects herself with, “person?”

“Meg,” Eugene pulls at the hem of her deep purple top. “Can we play ‘Hunters and Demons’ again? Please?”

“Yeah, obviously,” the college student pats the boy on the head. Although her looks are anything but intimidating and stereotypically tough, she’s the best babysitter Cas has ever encountered and somehow manages to get Eugene to be a little angel.

Cas clears his throat. “If you do happen to play that again, _please_ , keep the salt at bay. I’m still finding it in the strangest places.”

“Sure thing, Cas,” Meg nods. “Now… don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Of course,” patting himself down in search of his keys, Cas shuffles over to the shoe shelf and one-handedly grabs his smart pair of ankle leather boots.

“Oh, dinner is on the table. Feel free to have some as well, Meg,” Cas tells her with a vague wave in the direction of the kitchen and drops his to the floor. He slides his feet in. In his back trouser pocket, his keys jingle, finally alerting him of their presence.

“Pa,” a finger pokes him his side.

“Yes?” he turns to see Eugene struggling to hold up Cas’ bulky tawny-colored coat. Meg pushes Eugene forward encouragingly and the coat drags along the ground, trailing beside the boy’s small frame. Cas puts two and two together: Meg must had taken his coat off the hook and handed it to Eugene to give to his father.

“It’s gonna snow,” Eugene tells him, tone gone as serious as possible.

Cas extends his arm down and cups the boy’s face, brushing his thumb over the roundness of Eugene’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he says, chest contracting almost painfully with love for his son. He takes the trench coat from Eugene, who visibly straightens once the weight has been lifted off of him.

“Pa?” Eugene begins to chew the nail of his thumb. “Can I go too?”

“No,” Cas states simply.

Eugene’s bottom lip begins to tremble.

Thankfully, there’s a loud meow that comes from the staircase not too far from the front door. Spook, their Bombay cat of ebony fur and yellow eyes slinks down the steps. Eugene is successfully distracted, rushing to embrace her. Cas folds his coat over his arm and nods at Meg who gives him a thumbs-up in reply.

“I’ll be home soon, okay, Eugene?” Cas’ hand is on the doorknob. “Behave yourself.”

“Wait!” Eugene stumbles forward, cradling Spook like a newborn. Suddenly the bedraggled-looking cat is being shoved up into Cas’ crotch. Meg snorts, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Um,” Cas looks from his son to the cat, “What…?”

Eugene’s fine eyebrows draw together with determination. “If I can’t go to the grown-up’s party than Spook should go.”

“Eugene,” Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t eve make sense. Why—?”

“Because I say so,” Eugene tilts his chin up and pushes Spook further between Cas’ legs.

“ _Eugene_ ,” Cas warns.

“I won’t go to bed and I’ll do a pee on your laptop if you won’t let Spook go with you,” his son says with a sniff and a pout.

Cas doesn’t know whether to be angry or to be impressed with his son’s blackmailing skills. He looks at his watch, then at Eugene’s stubborn frown, then at Meg’s amused smirk. He throws his hands up in the air in surrender.

“Alright,” his hands go around Spook’s middle. “Only if you _promise_ to be a good boy until I get back and be in bed e _arly_.”

“But I wanna watch the fireworks on TV!” Eugene complains.

Cas sighs. “Okay, okay. Be ready for bed before the fireworks then go straight upstairs into your room once they’re over. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Eugene puts his hand up, fingers flexing and reaching for his father. Cas leans down, allows those wiry arms to wrap around the back of his neck. He presses a tender kiss to his son’s temple. Spook meows in indignation, being squashed between them.

“Okay, enough cutesy stuff,” Meg cuts in and opens the door, a gust of cold breeze coming inside. “Go! You’re gonna be late,” she shoos Cas out the door.

“ _Be good_ ,” Cas reminds Eugene from the porch.

“Love you, Pa,” his little boy waves from behind Meg.

Cas holds Spook close to his chest and marches toward the car through the rather thick layer of snow, shivering on the outside but feeling warm on the inside from Eugene’s last words.

 

~*DEAN*~

 

Dean is ready to strangle himself with his tie when his mobile pings with a text message for what seemed like the millionth time that night. He runs the teeth of his comb through his hair with a final stroke, all but throws it into the sink and stalks out of his en suite. He enters his bedroom where atop of his nicely made bed his phone is vibrating with an incoming call. Sighing, he strides over and scoops it up in his hand.

He presses the ‘answer’ button and tiredly says into it, “Hi Mom.”

“ _I’m going to smack_ your ass _into next week,_ Dean Singer!” comes the voice of his adopted mother.

Dean winces and sharply pulls the phone away from his head, eardrum ringing. Ellen Singer’s angry tones continue to come through, crackling with volume.

“ _So help me God, Dean Singer, if you aren’t home in the next two hours_ —”

“Mom, it’s Dean _Smith_ ,” he reminds her, angling the phone so it doesn’t rest against his ear.

“ _I don’t care that you took your supposed ‘father’s’ last name! You have me and you have Bobby and isn’t that enough?_ ”

Dean sighs heavily. “Of course, Mom,” he walks over to his built-in wardrobe and slides the door along the track, revealing several suit jackets.

He can almost feel the menace the comes from Ellen through the speaker when she warns, “ _Don’t you take that tone with me, Dean. I’m not the one who’s neglecting their family!_ New Years Eve _is supposed to be an opportunity to be with loved ones— not with some dickhead in a monkey suit!_ ”

Dean scowls as he rifles through his wardrobe. “But Mom…”

“ _No. Dean you—”_

Dean cuts in, “These parties are important to Mr. Adler and I’m aiming to be eligible for V.P which means I need to be seen as dedicated to the company.”

“ _We didn't even see you at Christmas, Dean,_ ” Ellen’s voice grows upset and Dean feels a twist of guilt in his chest. “ _Bobby misses you something fierce, you know._ ”

Dean swallows hard and pauses, his hand resting on a coat hanger holding a coal-black jacket. His thoughts turn to the home he grew up in. In the fall of 1982 he was found alone and malnourished behind a greasy diner in South Dakota. The state police took him in and inexplicably were unable to find any traces of his parents except for their names: John and Mary Smith. He ended up in Sioux Falls where he was adopted by Robert and Ellen Singer.

And that was it.

During his adolescent years, Dean had been interested in knowing more about his biological parents. Why had he been abandoned? Were they still alive and out there? What were they like? Did he have any more family he didn’t know about? When nothing came after he had rooted around for information, he left it.

Dean was content anyway. He knew he had a privileged childhood and he was eternally grateful to his surrogate parents. The Singer household was a colonial-like styled two-storey place on a property that had wrecked cars all over, as Bobby is a mechanic and runs a salvage yard.

Memories of that place were fond, but with it, came that awful ache Dean gets on those days when the hours seem too long and his limbs feel as heavy as lead.

“I miss him too,” Dean’s hand drops to his side. Then it comes up again and his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Jo too,” he says referring to his younger sister— Bobby and Ellen’s only daughter. “She there with you?”

Ellen hums. “ _Yeah. Do you want to talk to her?_ ”

Abruptly, Dean yanks out the jacket from the wardrobe. The coat hanger falls and clatters once it hits the ground.

“I have to be at the party at seven and it’s already twenty past six,” he tells Ellen. “I’ll call in tomorrow night.”

“ _You bet your ass you will. Your boss works you too hard_ ,” Ellen says. “ _You ought to relax more often_.”

“I do relax,” Dean says.

Jo’s voice pipes up, loud and clear, “ _Bullshit_.”

“ _Language, Joanna Beth!_ ” Ellen chides, but it sounds half-hearted.

A smile curves Dean’s lips, but it quickly slides off his face when his eye catches the time. _Damn_. He’s going to be late. Especially with the condition of the roads, these last few weeks, the snow has been all too willing to cover Cincinnati.

“I gotta run,” Dean says hurriedly. “See you Mom. Jo. Love you.”

“ _Love you, too,_ ” the two women he loves most in this world chorus back.

But then Jo adds, chuckling quite evilly, “ _Good luck getting laid by a hot guy. Shouldn’t be too hard considering all the gay flings you’ve been having._ ”

“ _JO!_ ” Ellen gasps.

Heat prickles the back of Dean’s neck. It was true. Jo knew that lately, her brother had been sleeping around. Dean claimed it was to diffuse all the Christmas tension.

“Shut up, Jo. I’m gay and single. Sue me!” Dean snaps feeling embarrassed that Jo had the audacity to mention t _hat_ in front of their mother.

“ _Don’t shout at your sister, Dean,_ ” Ellen scolds.

“How’s this my fault?” Dean asks, incredulous. He can hear Jo (that bitch) laughing in the background. “Anyway. Bye Mom.”

“ _Bye hon_ ,” Ellen replies.

Dean pulls his mobile away from his ear and thumbs the ‘end’ button. He stashes the device into his back pocket and slides on his jacket with practiced ease.

It was unfair.

Jo only found out when Dean slept with one of her college buddy’s— Tom? Tim? Dean couldn’t care less what the guy’s name was. After all, the idiot had ratted out their one-night stand to _Jo_.

Coincidentally, a few nights later, Jo received a text from one of her friends in Ohio, who happened to be in Cincinnati. Who happened to be stuck in the same broken down elevator with Dean that night that nasty snowstorm had blown in. And so happened to also take it up the ass just like Tim or Tom or whatever his name was. It was just his luck honestly to be with two men who were connected to his little sister in one way or another. 

A light shudder runs through his body as he briskly makes his way across his apartment. He grabs his wristwatch from the kitchen counter and slaps it on. He stops short by the fridge and checks his teeth in the stainless steel before reaching for his wallet and keys. Maybe he could get laid tonight.

Wasn’t it some kind of good luck thing when you do it on New Years?

As the last light of his apartment gets flicked off, he thinks over all of his male co-workers. Dean’s nose crinkles. No, no, definitely a bad road to go down. He pulls out his warmest coat: a long dark-colored one. What about his co-worker’s dates? Dean steps outside his apartment, shaking his head. He wasn’t that much of a dick. Guilt pulses through him for just even considering it. He slides in his key and locks the door.

“Going out?”

“Jesus!” Dean exclaims and drops his keys. His head snaps upward to see Frank Devereaux— the more than slightly paranoid, possibly crazy, man in his mid-fifties— his neighbour. Dean bends to pick up his keys with a laugh that sounds both startled and nervous. “Hey, Frank.”

Frank leans on the wall, arms over his chest, “You know, just on average— on average— more than a hundred and sixteen thousand Americans are injured and over one thousand and three hundred are killed from driving on snowy or icy roads.”

“Gee, Frank, I did not know or need to know that. But thank you,” Dean straightens with a grateful nod in his neighbor’s direction. “Happy New Year.”

“Oh I’m counting on it,” Frank says, following Dean as he walks toward the elevator at the end of the hall. “Just another year of blissful misery avoiding the government breathing down my neck.”

“That’s nice, Frank,” Dean replies and presses at the button to go down. “Good luck with that.”

Frank nods. “Yes—thank you, that’s very kind of you— good luck this year with your desk job or whatever it is you do.”

The door slides open and Dean steps in quickly, mock-saluting Frank. “Night Frank.”

“Later, cupcake,” Frank says, corners of his lips lifting up into a sneer.

Dean rolls his eyes once the doors are fully sealed. He hopes with every bit of his fraying spirit that the party is at least worth going to.

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

If it weren’t for Eugene’s strange request of his father to take Spook, Cas would actually be feeling twice as worse as he did now out in the dangerous waters of his uncle’s workplace New Years party. Spook so far had been a fierce companion and warded off most of the possible foes who passed them by. Cas was glad for his cat’s presence. He would have been absolutely bored and lonely. Actually, cross the latter. Not lonely, per se— more… pestered.

“Condolences on your father’s death, Mr. Novak,” is a pot-bellied elderly man opening line to him. Cas holds Spook closer to his chest, using his cat like a shield against this new annoyance to his evening. When his uncle, Zachariah Adler had invited him, he had thought since he was actually not a part of the company he would be duly ignored. As it turned out, it was definitely not the case.

“Thank you,” Cas replies politely.

Even though his father had died more than a year ago now, he was still receiving pity on it. He knew most people did it because they felt inclined to, but really, it hurt to be reminded. Also, telling whether the pity was genuine or not, had been something Cas had learned to master. The bald businessman was another to but into the ‘doesn't really give a damn’ column.

Cas combs his fingers through Spook’s soft fur and she leans into his hand, his mind wandering as he simply watches the old man without actually listening. He adds a few shakes and nods of his head every so often along with a few hums just to keep the one-sided conversation going.

Sometimes he would really like to tell people to kindly ‘fuck off’. But it wasn’t really the sort of thing he did, nor the kind of language he tended to use.

“What line of work do you follow?” Mr. Pendleton (Cas thinks that’s what his name is, anyway) asks.

Oh no, an actual question he’s inclined to answer.

“Um,” Cas begins, “journalism.”

Mr. Pendleton’s brows fly up his forehead. “Journalism,” he repeats.

“Yes, sir,” Cas nods.

“I… uh, well,” Mr. Pendleton stammers, taken by surprise, “that’s very interesting.”

“It is,” Cas agrees, patting his cat some more. “I do freelancing journalism. Meaning I work for several newspapers and magazines at a time, but because I am fairly well known, I can pick and choose assignments. I mostly do topics on…” he trails off seeing that he has quickly lost Mr. Pendleton’s attention.

Cas clears his throat and tries not the let the lack of interest get to him, but his cheeks grow warm anyway. Then again, he probably deserved it. After all, he hadn’t listened very well to other man in the first place.

“I’m sorry, excuse me, I see my uncle over there and I must talk to him,” Cas lies as he brushes past Mr. Pendleton to disappear into the ebb and flow of the people attending the party.

Spook meows plaintively in his arms, squirming. He pets her dark coat and meets her yellow eyes. Cas doesn’t really know how he can tell, but she looks utterly unimpressed.

 _Me too, Spook,_ Cas inwardly sighs.

 

~*DEAN*~

 

 _Lame_ , is the first adjective that pops into Dean’s head once he leaves the coatroom and his eyes slide over the scene of the party which, to be frank is quite miserable looking.

Five years Dean has been Director of Sales and Marketing of Sandover and not once has the work parties had a little spice to them. It shouldn’t be surprising by now, he supposes, but he still feels a sense of embarrassment and disappointment when he had entered the venue. Limp, bland colored decorations hung loosely around the trim of the ceiling. Music (a jaunty piano number) came softly from a dusty stereo that most definitely belonged in a museum.

At least the heating in this place was sufficient.

Parking was a menace, and really, he shouldn’t be driving the Prius in the kind of weather they were having. Frank was right about how dangerous the roads were. It was good those salt trucks were making hourly rounds, making them safer and reducing the risk of any accidents.

Dean rolls his shoulders and sighs when something cracks at his left shoulder blade. God, he could use either a _really_ good drink or a r _eally_ good lay. He crosses the main room, keeping an eye out for any of his close co-workers.

“Dean,” Bela Talbot, a fellow manager, approaches him and her hand is suddenly wrapped round his upper arm, trying to tug him forward. “Over here, tiger,” her lips curve into a devious smirk that spells trouble. “Kiss me.”

“Whoa there, sweetheart,” Dean puts a hand up, motioning her to stop pulling him. He firmly puts his heel down, disquieted nerves brewing a storm in his stomach. With subtlety, Dean extracts his arm from Bela’s waiflike fingers.

“It’s not midnight yet,” he says with a light, but forced chuckle.

She plays with her necklace, a chunky gold medallion that hangs low over her cleavage. “Oh, but you know how the time flies. Why wait?”

“And you know how I’m one to follow tradition,” Dean counters.

Bela’s eyes roll skyward in exasperation and Dean seizes the opportunity, eyes darting around the room in search for a safe route out of this. Ah, Mr. Adler is over there talking, the I.T. guys are by the punch bowl… If only he could just…

“Have fun for once, Dean-o,” Bela purrs, her hands drift to his lapels and once again attempting to bring their lips together.

Dean’s stomach plummets. “Bela,” he says more firmly, palms growing sweaty. An itching kind of tingle travels to his nose. The back of his eyes burn, irritated, and fill to the brim with tears. He jerks backward, hides his nose in the crook of his elbow and lets out a loud sneeze. Then another. Three more. Bela looks at him strangely. Dean understands the sentiment because, _what the hell_? He only ever gets this around cats…

“Excuse me,” Dean says to Bela after another sneeze, that this time sounded almost violent. Bela nods dumbly. He needs to find that new intern Jenny who always carries around those nice-smelling tissues.

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

This was not how he had been planning his New Years celebrations. Cas would have loved to spend time with Eugene and watch the fireworks on T.V. His little boy probably would fall asleep seconds afterward and he would have carried him to the bedroom.

For sure, Eugene was the most peculiar creature in the universe to Cas.

When Cas was home, Eugene didn’t like to sleep alone and preferred Cas’ bed or the carpeted floor in Cas’ room. So he could’ve been at home cocooned in bed with Eugene curled up at his side, going through notes on his the article he was working on. Ironically, it was a cultural-based feature wherein he was to write about five different traditions and how their society celebrates the coming of the New Year.

“Ah! Castiel,” an unfortunately all too familiar voice comes from behind and a hand lands heavily on his shoulder.

Cas turns and sees his Uncle Zachariah: the reason why he is here and not home doing work and being with his son. He smiles to the best of his ability at the man in his fifties and CEO of the construction company Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc.

“Your father would be the one who I invited to New Years at Sandover,” Zachariah tells Cas, wrapping his arm over his nephew’s shoulders. “Of course, he only came a few times, having been busy with his accounting business.”

“Yes, he was a busy man,” Cas says, internally shuddering at the feel of his uncle’s arm. He didn’t like Zachariah very much, finding him to be greedy and pretentious. But family is family, and his uncle has not yet done anything to truly upset Cas. Stress on the word ‘yet’.

“I am very glad you decided to come, Castiel,” Zachariah pats him lightly.

“It is a nice party,” Cas comments. “Thank you for inviting me,” he adds politely.

“There has been something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, for a while now, I thought in time of festivity it would be a good time to discuss your father’s business…”

Spook meows irritably at the balding man, interrupting him.

It was as if she knew that her owner would not be happy to ‘discuss’ the future of the business. The truth was that once Cas’ father (Zachariah’s youngest brother) had died, it was only then that he had taken interest. Charles— or ‘Chuck’ as he preferred— Novak was an eccentric but good man. Cas loved him dearly and to this day still misses his company and counsel. It was Cas, Chuck’s only son, who had been there for him through the thick and thin of his illness and to the day of his death.

Zachariah smiles tightly down at the Bombay cat. “You brought your cat,” he points out, arm retreating back to his side.

“Yes,” Cas says, glancing down at his yellow-eyed cat then back up at his uncle.

“Why?” Zachariah demands.

Cas frowns. “Is it a problem?”

“Well—” Zachariah pauses. “No, I suppose not.”

“Don’t worry,” Cas reassures him in a somber tone, “I’ll make sure she is on her best behavior,” he awkwardly lifts her to eye-height, “right, Spook?”

Spook licks him on the tip of the nose, causing it to crinkle at the rough feel of the cat’s tongue. Zachariah looks to be at a loss for words.

Cas looks his uncle in the eye, face completely schooled into an earnest expression. “Although I can’t make any promises if she notices the salmon at the smorgasbord.”

“Uh…” Zachariah flounders. He coughs lightly into his fist. “How has your writing been lately?”

  
“Fine,” Cas smiles benignly.

“Good, good,” Zachariah says, “you should always do what you love, as they say.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Cas concurs.

A stretch of silence passes between them, the older man’s flitting around the room and focusing on things other than Cas and his attentive gaze. Spook delicately licks her paws, retractable claws flexing.

“And the company is running smoothly for you?” Cas questions in an attempt to refuel the conversation out of politeness and his inability to stand the piteous look on Zachariah’s face. Cas is rather familiar to this particular facial expression. It was a ‘having to deal with this person’s lack of effort and desire to socialize’ expression. A sort of pained, uncomfortable…

“Yes!” Zachariah sends Cas’ train of thought off the tracks.

“Yes?” Cas prompts.

His uncle brightens considerably. “It has been very good, thank you very much. Sales are up, up, up! The IT department has upgraded considerably…”

Cas flinches when a person near him— their back is to the journalist— abruptly sneezes loudly, following with a profuse apology. Then the man sneezes again.

And again.

_Three more times._

Thoughts of the flu season run through Cas’ mind and he makes a face as he receives flashbacks of tissues littering his bed covers. He remembers the insatiable need for throat lozenges, the constant runny nose and that horrible fatigue plaguing his body. He shudders and consciously angles his body away from the sneezer. Another flu? _No thanks_ , Cas thinks.

“Aw, man, I’ll have to buy me some Aloe Vera and Eucalyptus tissues,” the man sniffles. “Thanks Jenny, you’re a life saver.”

The comment catches Cas’ Uncle Zachariah’s attention and the older man’s dull grey-blue eyes light up. His uncle takes a step toward the sneezer and claps the man on the shoulder, completely unaware of Cas’ wide-eyed stare. _Germs, uncle, ever heard of them?_ Cas mentally grouses.

“Dean!” Zachariah exclaims, tone warm. “Caught the season’s sniffles, eh?”

The man, ‘Dean’ spins to face them, brows raised in surprise as he aims a broad grin at Zachariah.

Cas’ stomach does an odd flip-flop as his world seemingly rolls into slow motion while he takes in the sight of this stunning-looking stranger. Eyes of hazel green, however, they were slightly indecisive in shade due to the evening’s twinkling party lights.

Dean has thick, close-cropped brown hair, which was combed to the side, the telltale glossy sheen of gel accompanying it. His lips made a perfect cupid’s bow, full and pink. The green-eyed man’s nose was slightly bent in the middle of the bridge, lightly speckled with freckles.

“Evenin’ Mr. Adler,” Dean greets, sniffling, the tip of his nose pink. “I swear I was feeling just fine a moment ago…” those green eyes land on Cas and widen.

“Ah,” Zachariah’s attention goes back to Cas, “let me introduce you two… This is Castiel Novak, my nephew. He’s a writer. Castiel, this is Dean Smith.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, feeling wriggly under Dean’s intense and blatant stare.

“Cat,” is Dean’s odd reply.

 _That’s a new one. I don’t think anyone’s mistake my name for ‘cat’ before._ Cas blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Uh—” Dean’s eyes screw shut and he sneezes into the crook of his arm, twice. His eyes go a little watery and Cas feels a blossoming of concern in his chest.

“Bless you,” Zachariah supplies helpfully.

Dean apparently didn’t hear Cas’ uncle and his eyes have zeroed in on Cas, more specifically, at the bundle of black fur in his arms. Spook’s tail flicks, unsure of the sudden attention from Dean.

“You have a cat,” the man’s brow furrows in both annoyance and confusion.

“Oh,” Cas looks down at his black cat, she cranes her neck back to stare at him with her big yellow eyes. Her whiskers bristle. Cas lifts his head, eyebrow arching at Dean, lips tilting into a half-smile.

“Yes, I have a cat,” Cas acknowledges.

Dean’s cheeks color. It’s quite pretty. Cas watches closely as the tip of Dean’s tongue darts out to skim over his plump lips. He becomes quickly entranced when Dean traps his bottom lip with the top row of his teeth, a flare of arousal blossoms deep in his gut. Dean’s hand comes up to scratch at his neck.

“Ah yes, it’s just,” Dean blunders, “I mean— I’m allergic, is all.”

Cas snaps out of his reverie and makes an effort to tamp down the lust stirring inside of him, his heart sinks as Dean’s words manage to go through his head. He swallows. What is it about _this man_ that diverts all his power to form intelligible thoughts?

“That’s unfortunate,” Cas finally answers Dean’s statement.

Zachariah shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it Dean, I myself am pretty allergic to oranges, did you know?”

Dean’s eyes stay on Cas a moment longer before going to Zachariah. “Oranges, sir?” He asks.

“Quite unbelievable, isn’t it…” Zachariah makes idle chitchat about the extremity of the puffiness he receives he gets from the popular citrus fruit.

Cas tunes out, glad the spotlight isn’t on him, then quite discreetly checks Dean out and with every passing second does he realize how much he _wants_ _to touch_. The angular jaw, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiles, the long lashes...

His face is an odd mixture of femininity and masculinity. Cas mentally kicks himself when Dean catches him staring. His heart jumps into his throat.

What’s wrong with him? You don’t just casually ogle at other people, especially strangers, no matter how handsome. It’s rude to stare. Cas’ father used to tell him this often.

Obviously not often enough times.

“What kind of stuff do you write about, Mr. Novak?” Dean suddenly asks Cas.

Cas freezes for a moment thinking about his encounter earlier with Mr. Pendleton, how quickly the man became disinterested with Cas and his work as soon as the word ‘journalism’ came out of his mouth.  
  
“Well,” Cas begins, swallowing hard.

What should he say?

Something that would interest Dean would be preferable, but Cas has literally just met him, so he doesn’t know the green-eyed man’s likes and dislikes... besides that he is allergic to cats (bummer) and works for Zachariah. Most of his uncle’s employees were snooty, awkward or just plain rude and tended to pour scorn on Cas and his lifestyle choice. They never seem to genuinely want to care and maybe Dean was just another one of _those people_.

Cas clears his throat and eventually decides to answer with, “It’s probably something you wouldn’t be interested in and you wouldn’t understand, even if you tried.”

Dean gapes, eyes widening and brows rising in disbelief. Then just as quickly, his expression morphs into one of righteous indignation. The man visibly bristles and harshly smoothens the very few crinkles of his three-piece-suit.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Dean says with a brittle smile, “I’d rather spend my time with a real dry martini than further waste your time,” his eyes hold a bright glint that sends shivers down Cas’ spine, “Mr. Novak,” he drags it out filthily.

It all rushes down south and Cas desperately needs to suck in a deep breath and try to calm his suddenly alive and kicking libido. A lifetime. That’s how long it feels since he’s had such a strong connection or attraction to another man. It’s unnerving.

“I wouldn’t mind a martini myself,” Zachariah comments with a laugh, completely oblivious.

“Have a good night sir,” Dean says, sticking his hand out to his boss, “and Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Dean,” Zachariah replies as he shakes Dean’s hand enthusiastically. Then the man turns sharply on his heel and strides off, immersing into the sea of partygoers.

 

~*DEAN*~

 

As the gin and dry vermouth paint the insides of his throat— cool, smooth, dry, with a hint of tang— Dean Smith decides that it probably would have been a smarter decision to not destroy his liver and break his cleanse (once again) just because of that absolute asshole _Castiel Novak_.

Dean breathes deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, eyes closing momentarily as he counts to ten and shoves down the urge to end that bigheaded prick with the stupidly blue eyes and fucked-up hair.

He manages to deposit the now-empty glass on a tray held by a bored-looking waiter. Restlessly, Dean plays with the buttons of his suit jacket and tries (but fails) to look at ease amongst the men and women, who like him, were dressed to the nines. Really, he didn’t at all mind the party. In fact he had been enjoying the goings-on when that irritating tickle of his nose started.

Of course that douche bag had brought one of Satan’s spawn, cradling it like a baby. To be honest Dean half-expected the dude to begin stroking that yellow-eyed demon like some cliché villain. Dean’s mouth upturns. Cats are gross.

His stomach alerts him that he should eat something and the businessman makes his way toward the back wall of the party venue where a table with a beautiful and diverse smorgasbord is laid out.

The salads are calling to him: springy-looking carrot shavings, mixed lettuce and spinach, plump cherry tomatoes and dressings galore has him licking his lips.

Dean’s eyes land on a stack of gleaming white plates with a container of utensils beside it. Perfect. On the way he accidentally bumps into Tessa from operations and goes to excuse his clumsiness, only to halt mid-sentence when he catches sight of the profile of Castiel Novak. Inside his chest, Dean’s heart jumps. He drags his eye away from following that mop of dark, rumpled hair.

“Sorry, Tess,” he repeats.

“It’s fine,” she smiles and lifts her wineglass, gesturing to the pale gold liquid inside, “it’s all still there and not on my dress. I count that as a plus.”

“Happy New Year,” Dean places his hand on her shoulder briefly.

“Happy New Year,” Tessa echoes.

Once Dean reaches the plates, he discovers that he doesn’t feel hungry anymore and instead is craving the burn of strong liquor trickling down his throat. Again. Jesus Christ that cat really did a number on him. Or maybe it was the owner… With his thoughts muddling, Dean does a 180-degree turn and across the room, through the gaps between the countless numbers of heads: two _very blue_ eyes meet his hazel greens.

All over his skin has a crawling feeling which makes him shiver, and his brain immediately formulates the idea that the heater in the venue that the party is happening at must be broken or not set to a hot enough temperature. Dean’s hand comes up and his finger crooks around the knot of his tie, itching at it.  
  
He hasn’t fidgeted with his tie since his first week at Sandover. Castiel Novak had been looking _right_ at him. An inkling of curiosity trickles through Dean along with a hint of guilt. Maybe he’d judged the guy too quickly. Maybe he’d heard him wrong, a simple case of miscommunication. Damn it, after all, Dean was a director of sales. If there was one thing he knew it was that people often make blunders when it comes to the verbal side of communication.

“Ah— Mr. Smith, sir?” a tentative voice pipes up, and it’s only then he notices to his left a young woman in a purple dress with flyaway red hair that’s been styled into a bun with a hair stick, which suspiciously looked like a Lightsaber to Dean.

“Oh, um,” Dean stumbles over his words, taken aback by the woman’s sudden appearance. He quickly slaps on a winning smile and watches how it immediately makes the young woman at ease.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi there,” she gives him a little wave, her other hand wrapped tightly around the strap of a handbag that matches the deep plum shade of her dress.

“I know you,” he waggles a finger at her, “you’re Charlene, right?”

“Right,” her small smile turns into a grimace, “I prefer Charlie.”

“Charlie,” Dean corrects himself. “How can I help?”

“You’re standing in front of the plates,” Charlie points out, lips stretching into a smile, which looks half-amused and half-concerned. With haste, Dean practically throws himself out of the way— feet stumbling over the other in a rare show of awkwardness.

“Sorry,” he bumps into someone’s shoulder. “Pardon me.”

Wrecked. That’s how he feels right now after only being in Castiel Novak’s immediate proximity for no more than five minutes. _Smooth_ , he reminds himself. _I am smooth_. He hasn’t had to give himself these little inner pep talks in years. His cheeks begin to burn with shame. _Confidence. Chin up. Eyes front._

He sucks in a pacifying, slow breath. _What are you going to do, Smith?_ He asks himself. Dean grinds his teeth down, determination swelling inside of him. _I’m going to charm the pants off of Castiel Novak because, sweet baby Jesus, that man looks like a sex god._

Dean squares his shoulders and snakes his way through the sea of people. Out of their own accord, his hands self-consciously smoothen down his hair, even though the gel should be holding it down in place. On closer inspection, he sees that the infuriating man he can’t get out of his head is no longer holding the demon spawn.  
  
Score one, Smith.  
  
Instead the man has his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The chest of the dusty blue waistcoat and charcoal colored jacket now has tautness to it, revealing slight bulges of muscle. Dean tears his eyes away in search for the ball of fur—there it is: in the arms of a woman. But Dean’s hopes aren’t gone yet, because he recognizes her as Anna Milton, Mr. Adler’s daughter. And Novak is Adler’s nephew and therefore is Anna’s cousin. Therefore, not a threat to the plans he’s in the process of making.

“Novak,” Dean says as greeting, his heart two beats away from leaping out of his chest.

Novak startles, hand coming up to knead the back of his neck. “Mr. Smith. Hello,” his voice is as low and grumbling like thunder.

Dean’s eyes rove from the blue-eyed man to his redhead cousin. “Mrs. Milton. Mind if I steal,” he slides his hand up Castiel Novak’s upper-arm with a building sense of heat journeying south, “this man for a moment?”

Anna smiles. “Not at all. I’ll hold on to Spook for you, Cas.”

 _Cas_ , Dean’s head tilts thoughtfully at the nickname. One of his eyebrows twitches upwards. He likes that.

“Thank you, Anna,” Cas says, fingers sweeping through the thick black fur of his cat. The cat mewls questioningly back at him, teeth showing. Dean internally recoils. For a second, his mind goes blank when two pools of absolute blue catch his gaze.

“This way,” Dean gives Cas’ arm a brief squeeze, letting his touch linger for as long as possible before letting go.

He walks out from the mass of people. Cas follows, keeping close, and Dean knows this because he can feel the other man’s warm presence behind him. Excitement makes Dean’s breathing shallow and he struggles to keep his body under control. Eventually they enter the coatroom that is empty save for the winter gear—hats, coats, and scarves—that are scattered all about the room.

“What is it?” Cas asks him once Dean turns around to face him. The blue-eyed man is only a few inches away: in kissing distance. Taken aback, Dean can’t decide at what to look at and his eyes dart this way and that searching Cas’ face: the chaotic black mop of hair, the pink lips, the lines at his eyes and brow that become conspicuous when he frowns.

 _Here goes_ , Dean thinks before he makes a show of rolling his bottom lip and grazing it against his front teeth. Voice even he says, “I have a problem.”

Cas’ brow crinkles, eyes on Dean and imploring. “With…?”

“You,” Dean says.

Cas is silent for a moment before he nods and says, “I see. Is it because of Spook?”

Dean blinks at Cas, bewildered.

“My cat,” Cas clarifies.

“What?” Dean’s voice raises an octave. “No! No, no.”

Cas squints at him. “I don’t understand.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head lightly with amusement, “I guess I gotta spell it out for you, huh, Novak.”

“Please do,” Cas says.

“I can’t get you outta my head,” Dean jumps straight into it.

Cas’ hand comes up to play with the buttons of his waistcoat. “Pardon?”

Growing even more frustrated Dean blurts you, “You’re so distracting, I can’t—” he passes his hand over his mouth and chin. “God!”

Concern plays over Cas’ features. “Mr. Smith? Are you all right? I don’t think…”

“Novak,” Dean cuts in. “You are _incredibly_ hot.”

Cas’ eyes grow so round that it’s almost comical. “Oh,” he says, seemingly unable to come up with anything else.

“I know, we don’t know each other at all but damn,” Dean sighs. “I can’t seem to think straight when you’re on my mind.”

“Mr.—” Cas pauses, “Dean... May I call you that?

Dean nods his assent.

“I don’t think you’d want to involve yourself with me,” Cas says, which is ten kinds of mysterious and really unhelpful to Dean.

Dean smiles, brows jumping. “Why? You a secret agent? An assassin? That just makes you twice as sexy.”

Cas’ cheeks flood with color. “N-No!” He exclaims, obviously flustered. “Not at all. No, you see I’m…”

Dean can’t take another second of _this_ and cups the other man’s face. Black eclipses the blue of Cas’ eyes. Dean shuts his eyes and quite forcibly brings their lips together into a searing kiss. Dry but unbelievably soft, Cas’ lips feel amazing—and responsive. Dean’s breath hitches as his bottom lip becomes trapped between Cas’. Warm, square hands explore Dean’s torso. A trail of fire follows those deft fingers. Then _thump_.  
  
Dean is suddenly shoved roughly backward, breath departing his lungs as he hits a wall.

“You…” Cas is beautiful, blue eyes ablaze and cheekbones pink. Dean doesn’t regret kissing this total stranger. A noise nothing short of a growl escapes Cas’ kiss-bruised lips and then Dean’s arms are full of him. Dean struggles to keep up with Cas’ frenzy of passionate kisses.

“Sweet Christ,” Dean murmurs between the rampage of open-mouthed smooches from Cas.

His hands hover uselessly and uncertainly by his sides, unsure of what to hold on to. He certainly wasn’t expecting this. But he sure as hell isn’t going to ask Cas to stop or anything. A whimper is drawn out from Dean when Cas gives him a final, sensual nip. Dean makes a noise of complaint when Cas stops kissing him and ruts up against the other man. He begins to salivate at the feel of the hardness that’s already tenting Cas’ pants.

“Dean,” Cas growls, voice low and husky. His eyes half-lidded with desire. “I haven’t kissed anyone in so long…” he cranes his head down, arms wrapping around Dean’s middle. Dean’s hips buck upward when Cas’ fingers pull at the fabric of his dress shirt and that hot mouth latches on to his collar bone.

“You’re making me crazy,” Dean shivers all over. His hand card through Cas’ hair and stop at the base of his skull. His fingers twist fitfully at the dark tousles. He tugs and asks brokenly, “D’you want to g-get out of here?”

“Please, Lord, _yes_.”

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

The heat from Dean’s apartment is a stark contrast to the weather outside. Cas’ body is quaking from both the lingering sense of chill from the journey into the building from Dean’s car and the irritating build-up of nerves. He was completely out of practise. After all, he was a single father with a five-year-old son. Alone time was rare. Cas jumps when he hears a soft click and the room floods with light. Dean shuffles about behind him and Cas takes the opportunity from where he awkwardly stands to look around the apartment. It is very large. Luxurious. The kitchen gleams: seemingly spotless with several of stainless steel appliances. He wiggles his sock-clad toes, having already taken of his shoes.

“Let me take your coat?” Dean’s hands position themselves on Cas’ shoulders from behind.

Castiel allows his trench coat to be peeled off, slow and tantalising. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees that Dean’s already stripped out of his coat and suit jacket. Dean smiles at him, eyes twinkling before he turns and places the coat on the hook on the back of the front door. Castiel begins to tug off his gloves.

“This scarf suits you,” Dean comments once he returns, fingers playing with the stray, midnight blue threads.

Cas is so nervous he can’t even speak.

There’s a pressure in his chest, pushing against his skin. Making it difficult for him to move and form words. Things at the party flowed easily with Dean’s charms and his own cluelessness. It’s different now. He’s in Dean’s home, about to have sex with him, most likely. Cas’ train of thought chugs along toward Eugene probably getting ready to watch the fireworks with Meg.

What time was it? Probably close to midnight by now, surely.

“Earth to Cas,” Dean steps into his personal space with an absolutely radiant grin. “What’s up with you?”

Cas doesn’t have time to reply as Dean pulls him forward by the blue scarf round his neck and shoulders and says in a low voice, “You were just about ready to do anything back in that cloakroom.”

Cas can taste Dean’s breath on his tongue: sweet and spicy like that martini he was going to spend the night with instead of wasting Cas’ time. Was it really not that long ago that Dean was ready to burn him to a crisp with his glare?

“I want to say sorry for the way I acted,” Castiel blurts out, suddenly recalling the indignation on Dean’s face. “I spoke very offensively and I… I don’t talk to many people.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s fine. No big deal. First impressions and all that— right?”

“Right,” Cas echoes.

“Besides I don’t believe for a second you don’t talk to many people, especially with that mouth of yours…” Dean’s fingers boldly trace the contours of Cas’ lips.  
  
Sparks of heat and excitement dance at the base of his spine and his knees grow week. Vibrant hazel-green eyes pointedly flick down to where Cas can feel that throbbing heat between his legs. Cas wants to be kissed. Needs to be kissed. Dean fulfils his wishes by leaning in so quickly that their noses bump, but it doesn’t matter because his tongue is lick its way into Cas’ mouth.

The next few moments are a blur— crashing into walls and furniture all the while still kissing like their lives depended on it. Shirts go flying. Pants are kicked off.

The backs of Cas’ legs smack into something soft and he falls onto something plush, a mattress. It feels cool against the warm, bare skin of his back. Dean goes to crawl atop of him, only clad in underwear and socks. Cas won’t have any of that. He grabs Dean’s forearm and yanks hard.  
  
The other man makes a noise of surprise and is sent flat on his stomach to Cas’ right. Cas doesn’t waste any time and in one smooth movement rolls and straddles Dean.

“Cas,” Dean whines, the movement of his body erratic, torn between humping the mattress and pushing up against Cas’ hardened cock. “C-Ca-ah! Fuck!”

Cas bends down and mouths at the skin of Dean’s back, tasting his sweat and biting at his flesh. Dean arches and lets out a hoarse cry of pleasure. Cas pulls away and puts his hands on Dean’s shoulder blades to hold him down.

“Hold still,” he tells the Dean who is craning his neck to look at him, flushing prettily and gasping for air.

Dean keens but obediently stills. Cas slides off of the bed, it bounces as he leaves and pushes his underwear off. He hears Dean’s sharp intake of breath as the fabric passes over his erect dick and heat pours off of him in waves when he meets Dean’s lust-blown eyes.

“Can I take mine off?” Dean asks quietly, referring to his own pre-cum stained underwear, striving to keep still. His eyelids flutter. “Please?”

“First tell me where you keep your… _things_ ,” Cas takes himself in his hand and pumps his cock a few times to relieve some of the tension.  
  
He hasn’t been this hard in years, he’s surprised he’s lasted this long. Dean shifts on to his side and Cas can see the head of his dick peeking out from the line of his underwear, glistening with pre-cum and flushed.

“Bottom drawer,” he points, hand trembling.

Cas walks over and opens the drawer, seeing a dispense bottle of lubricant and several packets of condoms. As he sets the bottle on top of the beside set of drawers and peels open a square. Dean sits up and shucks off his underwear, hard dick bouncing against his belly.

His hands knead the skin of his thighs in soothing circles. Cas slides on a condom but is enraptured, watching as Dean makes a fist around his own cock and runs his thumb over the slit. His mouth falls open with a silent gasp, Adam's apple bobbing. 

“Hurry it up, Castiel,” Dean pleads as Cas squirts some lube into the cup of his palm. He rolls on to his stomach, hitching up his ass. “It takes two, you know.”

Cas settles behind Dean, kneeling on the bed and without warning nudges his finger into Dean’s hole and doesn’t stop until his knuckle is brushing against the tight ring of muscle.

“F-FUCK!” Dean chokes, his body spasms and he fists the bed sheets, sweat rolling over the dip of his back in beads. The pillow muffles Dean’s loud cries when Cas sinks the second finger into that slick heat. Cas leans over Dean’s quivering body, traces his other hand over the shivering flesh.

Cas sinks his teeth into Dean’s shoulder briefly, making him mewl, and then whispers into his ear, “You wanted me to hurry,” he adds another finger, “didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Dean groans, rocking back on Cas’ fingers. “Yes—!”

Cas slides his fingers out and when the blunt head of his cock replaces them, Dean lets out a breathy, _“Oh!”_ and cants his ass upward for Cas.

Cas runs his hands over the feverish skin reverently, pressing a quick kiss in between Dean’s shoulder blades before pushing in. They gasp simultaneously, the drag almost being too much. Their fingers find each other and lock together, Cas’ palms against the freckled backs of Dean’s hands.

Dean inches up the bed with the force of Cas’ thrusts, knees lifting off of the mattress with the hard rhythm.  
  
Cas comes first, going rigid before spilling into the condom— into Dean with a throaty and satisfied moan. His hand sneaks over Dean’s stomach until it finds the unbelievably hard member.

Cas gives it a long, firm stroke while he sighs out,  “Dean,” kissing him, mouthing him sloppily wherever he can reach. Dean comes with a dry, choking sob. They both collapse afterward, limp and satiated.

Grimacing, Cas pulls his soft cock out of Dean and eases the soiled condom off. Dean makes this soft, sleepy noise and Cas’ heart swells for some odd reason. He cleans them up to the best of his ability, the adrenaline slowly wearing off as he works. 

Dean pulls him in close once Cas returns to bed after finding the trashcan and throwing away the condom. Cas cradles Dean's head, both of them lean into each other and join their lips for a kiss. Dean looks at him, lids half-shut and green pools bleary with satisfaction and clumsily kicks away the come-covered sheet away. Cas pulls the fairly clean comforter over them.

Dean closes his eyes. 

“Happy New Year,” Cas whispers, running a hand down Dean's side, wondering and hoping about the next morning.   

Dean cracks open one eye and looks at his alarm clock. 12:01 glows bright blue in the dark. Cas wraps his arms around Dean while the other man slides a thigh between his own legs. When Dean hooks his elbow over Cas’ torso, he smiles. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbles and they fall asleep like that, naked with their limbs all tangled together.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos' and comments are greatly appreciated!


	2. Under My Skin

~*DEAN*~

On the first morning of the year Dean awakens to find a set of arms around him.

He inhales deeply, the scent of strawberries… he frowns lightly, unable to identify the other very distinctive smell. It’s definitely something associated with candy. He opens his eyes and finds himself face-to-face with one sleeping Castiel Novak, whom he is sharing a pillow with. Blinking away the drowsiness, he fixes his gaze on Cas.

Dean can’t quite believe that this is the same guy from the party last night who was all rumpled and frowning, looking uncomfortable and out of place.

Indulging himself, Dean leans in and buries his nose in the soft tangles of black hair, ignoring the slight tickle. He breathes in deep. _Bubblegum_ , Dean realizes and shifts—savoring the drag of their bare skin against each other—until he can comfortably lean up against Cas’ chest. Dean hums appreciatively. He undulates his hips, cock currently being victim to morning wood. Cas has a leg shoved in between Dean legs. It makes Dean unable to doing anything but slowly rub himself against that runner’s thigh.

Cas stirs, rubbing his face against the pillow. Dean grins and peppers chaste kisses all over the other man’s chest.

“Cas…? You awake yet?” Dean reaches down to take a hold of Cas’ dick, which is gradually curling upward and growing flushed.

Then from outside the bedroom he hears his ring tone, that generic chiming one. He pauses his movements. It stops. Then starts again, insistent. Dean groans and thumps his forehead against Cas, knowing it’s probably his Mom or work. Either way, he should definitely answer it. Cas is still in the process of waking up anyway.

“I’ll be back,” he announces before throwing the covers off of himself and standing up.

Dean winces and his ass protests at the sudden movements. He scampers down the corridor in search of his trousers; naked as the day he was born. He finds them in a crumpled heap but the ringing isn’t coming from there. Dean scowls in confusion. He straightens and looks around, scratching the back of his head.

His eyes land on Cas’ suit jacket and there, poking out from one of the pockets is a phone lighting up with a call. Dean picks it up carefully. It vibrates in his hands. He goes back to his bedroom and sees that Cas has disappeared completely, having buried himself deep under the comforter.

“Cas,” Dean smacks the Cas-slash-quilt mound. “Buddy, you got a call coming in.”

“Nnnnghhhhh,” Cas replies.

Dean rolls his eyes, idly scratching at his stomach and waiting for Cas to do _something_. He waits for another few minutes in which the ring tone never ceases to stop. His foot begins to tap against the tiles, patience fraying. When he hears a soft snore from Cas, it’s the last straw and he answers the call.

“Hello?” he asks.

“ _Pa?_ ” the voice of a boy comes through.

Shit. Dean’s blood runs cold. “Who’s this?”

There’s an uncertain pause from the other end of the call. “ _Papa? Where’s my Pa?_ ”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, letting his nails scrape his scalp and his fingertips massage as he does so.

 _Stay calm_. He tells himself. _Maybe it’s a wrong number_.

Dean pulls the phone away from his ear and fiddles with the side until it lights up. His stomach twists and turns unpleasantly. The number is listed as ‘Home’. Breaths coming short, Dean wants to press that ‘end call’ button and be done with this torture of not knowing, of knowing. The voice returns, sounding small and tinny.

“ _Pa? Where are you? I want scrambled eggs but—_ ”

Then there’s a new voice, a _woman_. Dean’s hand snaps back upward, phone against his ear, listening intently. Shuffling. Crackling. Voices come in brokenly, belonging both to the boy and the woman— she sounds _pissed_.

“ _Give me the phone,_ ” he hears the woman demand.

Dean covers his mouth with a loose fist, feeling too weak to even clench his fingers.

“ _But—”_ the boy protests.

“ _Give me the phone, I want to speak with your father!”_ there’s a scuffling noise and then the woman’s voice comes loud and clear right in Dean’s ear. “C _astiel? Where the hell are you? You said you were going to be home after midnight and it’s_ nine thirty in the morning _. How could you do this to me?_ ”

Cas is married.

He’s fucking married to a woman and has _a kid_.

A bought of nausea slams into Dean and his knees buckle, the phone slipping from his fingers. “Fuck!” he curses and dives to catch it, but is too late. “Shit—goddamnit!” it lands on the floor and the telltale tinkle of glass reaches his ears.

He cautiously picks up Cas’ fallen and sees the screen is now black and cracked. Dean freezes, hands cradling the piece of technology that’s just about ruined the whole of last night and his brief morning. It had all felt so good. Real. What Dean thought he felt with Cas hadn’t just been on a physical level. That they were both just genuinely seeking out what they truly wanted.

“Dean?” a confused rasp comes from behind him.

Dean is sitting on the backs of his legs, unable to face Cas right now. He huffs out a bitter laugh, head hanging low. Cas is married. Dean couldn’t talk much, he _was_ a bit of a man-whore sometimes. But even _he_ wouldn’t sink to the level of betraying the person you had promised your life and love to by fucking somebody else.

A hand lightly touches the back of his head, ruffling the short brown hair a little.

“Don’t,” Dean warns. “Don’t touch me.”

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Cas pulls back and asks, sounding perfect—that confused sleepiness lacing his gravelly tones with a strong vibe of concern as well.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean says, faking a casual tone. “Not at all unless you consider royally fucking up your marriage and betraying the trust of your family something wrong, then no, nothing’s wrong. Everything is fucking peachy.”

He can sense Cas attempting to reach for him again, but this time with much more hesitancy. “Did I do something to hurt you? Are you alright?”

Dean stands up abruptly and spins around. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demands, getting up in Cas’ personal space.

Cas stumbles and almost falls, obviously rather taken aback and his hands come together to fidget. He was probably not expecting Dean to find out about Mrs. Novak. Dean turns his face away from Cas. Those eyes are hypnotizing and the fact that Cas is as naked as he is isn’t helping one bit. He holds out Cas’ cracked phone so quickly it makes the dark-haired man flinch. Dean feels a lance of guilt slice through his heart. Cas takes it slowly and their hands touch.

“Get out,” Dean says, voice uneven with the several emotions that threaten to burst free.

“I beg your pardon,” Cas begins indignantly, “I think I at least deserve to know the cause of your sudden change of heart.”

“Well, you know what? I deserved to know that you had a family waiting at home for you!” Dean shouts.

Cas frowns, eyes narrowing. “You mean, my son? Dean I don’t understand how that affects us. It shouldn’t—”

“I’m talking about _your wife_ , Cas, for Christ’s sake!” Dean snaps, surging forward so that he and Cas are almost touching noses and screams in a haze of rage and heartbreak, “NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT!”

Surprise flashes across Cas’ features followed by a wide-eyed fear. “Dean, I’m not…”

“Get out,” Dean repeats, voice hoarse. “Get out!” he grabs Cas by the arm and shoves him in the direction of his bedroom door.

Cas stumbles until his back connects with the doorframe. His hand shoots out behind him to clutch at it, mouth opening and shutting in shock. Cas’ blue eyes dart back and forth across Dean’s face as if searching for something.

“Are you deaf, Cas? I said: GET OUT!” Dean steps forward, anger boiling over and readying to drag Cas and throw him outside into the hall.

“Listen to me!” Cas raises his voice. He puts out a hand; palm outward and facing Dean in a placating gesture. His voice softens, “Let me explain.”

“No, I think I already know. You,” Dean takes a step forward, drawn toward Cas, “were bored. Bored with your wife, your job, and your life. Whatever! It doesn’t matter in the end because no one cares! And last night…” he draws in a deep breath. “Last night you _used_ me!”

Dean expects Cas to turn and hightail it out of his bedroom, picking up his clothes as he aims for the front door. Instead Cas lunges at him. His startling strong hands go around Dean’s wrists, tight as a vice. The broken phone slips from Dean’s grip. They fall. Underneath Dean, the bed bounces with the force of impact.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean shouts, struggling.

Cas looms over his body and his eyes on Dean are a thunderstorm— smoldering and fierce. “I have been a coward for most of my life when it comes to the romantic pursuit and I will not be bullied into submission by you, _Mr. Smith_ ,” his voice is nothing but a growl by the end of his declaration.

“Cas!” Dean gasps, blinking in confusion.

The rise and fall of his chest increases steadily as his breath and pulse quicken. The display, the heavy presence of Cas atop of atop is tantalizing and creating an itch under his skin. “Get off of me!” he demands, trying desperately to steer his thoughts away from the idea of getting fucked again and remember that Cas already belongs to someone else.

“Will you listen to me if I do?” Cas asks, eyes narrowing.

Dean thrashes and manages to get into a half-sitting position. “Why should I?” he snaps and finally pulls his wrists out of Cas’ grip. Victory is short-lived as Cas pushes his hands down on his chest, forcing him back with unforeseen strength. Dean stubbornly ignores the feel of Cas’ palms flattening his nipples and sending thrills directly south.

“Because you are wrong and I am not married!” Cas shouts, having lost his patience.

Dean freezes and stops breathing all together at the confession.

Not married? Could it be? Was this really all just a huge misunderstanding? His head spins with the possibility.

“I am not married,” Cas repeats.

The life and fight drains from Dean. “But…”

“I have been divorced for over a year,” Cas tells him and his hand moves to grip the side of Dean’s face.

“There was a kid and a woman on your phone,” Dean says.

“My phone?” Cas tilts his head.

Dean nods. “I answered it because you wouldn’t wake up and they would not stop calling. There was a kid and he asked for his dad and then a woman was there and she sounded pissed at you, Cas. I didn’t know what to think and I just assumed that you were—”

“Married,” Cas concludes and sits back, buttocks resting on Dean’s thighs. “No, the woman would be Meg. She babysits my son, Eugene. He’s five.”

“Oh,” Dean smiles tremulously.

“Yes,” Cas returns the smile, “ _Oh_.”

Dean lets out a groan and turns his face away from Cas only to nuzzle the reassuring hand that had been cupping his jaw. Heat blossoms in his cheeks. “Fuck,” he hisses, embarrassed and guilty. “I was ready to kick your ass!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Cas says and fits their mouths together into a kiss that lasts for the briefest of moments. “I have to go home.”

“No, no, no,” Dean cranes his neck, lips pursing and searching for another kiss. “Stay a while longer.”

Cas gives him a broad smile, blue gaze bright and full of amusement. “I can’t. Remember? Angry ‘wife’ to go home to.”

Dean allows his head to fall back on to the bed, limbs relaxing in defeat and exasperation. “Ugh! Cas, you’ll be the death of me.”

Cas stands and hums thoughtfully. “I hope not,” he says, expression contemplative, “I’ve decided that I’ve taken up quite a liking to you, Dean Smith.”

“A good thing too, Novak, since I don’t like to disappoint,” Dean winks at Cas before he rolls off of the bed and saunters toward his wardrobe. “You want to borrow some clothes?”

“No. I’ll wear what I had,” Cas replies and walks from the bedroom.

Dean ponders over his this melting pot of emotions he has for Cas as he slides open his wardrobe and reaches for the set of drawers. Person after person he had been with this last year. Cas is an anomaly in his life.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean calls out, stepping into a pair of boxer briefs, then a pair of pants. “Do you want some breakfast?”

“No that’s fine. Thank you!” Cas replies.

“Right!” Dean says and pulls a cotton t-shirt over his head. He enters the living room with a spring in his step, shrugging on a grey zip-up jumper. Morning sun paints the furniture with an almost blinding light. Cas is at the far end of the room, looking through the glass wall panels at the panoramic view of the Cincinnati with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Do you mind if we go now?” Cas questions. “I don’t want to inconvenience Meg any longer than I have to.”

“Of course, man,” Dean picks up his car keys that he thrown on to the kitchen counter last night. “Do you have everything?”

“Yes,” Cas replies, rearranging his scarf on his shoulders.

“Let’s get you home...” Dean waits until Cas is at arm’s length, then, reaches and snatches Cas’ hand in his.

Cas’ lips curve into what could barely be classified as a smile but it’s as radiant as a supernova.

 

~*CASTIEL*~  
 

Snow is progressively beginning to fall in more copious amounts when the engine splutters to a stop by the curb at the front of the house. Cas already misses the consistency of the warm air pouring from the vent. Nonchalantly, Dean strokes the steering wheel while peering around Cas to get a better look. The boxy shaped two-storey house has snow drooping from the roof tiles; the front windows glow from the light within and make it appear warm and cozy inside.

“It’s nothing special,” Cas admits, fingers fidgeting with his trench coat buttons, “it looks better in the spring, with the garden and all.”

“Nothing special, my ass, Cas,” Dean huffs out a laugh.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, trying to decipher whether or not the businessman was fooling around with him. Dean simply shrugs, a smile on his face.

“Home is home, right?” he remarks.

“Yes…” Cas says, slightly in wonderment because Dean _understands_. It’s astonishing to Cas at how Dean is not at all like the men he’s known to be fairly high up in a business. Mr. Smith is definitely not a complete corporate minion of Cas’ uncle Zachariah.

“Thank you for taking me home,” Cas pauses, “this morning and last night as well.”

Dean laughs. “Don’t mention it. Anytime.”

Cas opens the door; a gush of cold air fills the cabin. His eyes are still fixed on Dean’s face. He asks, “Does that mean we can see each other again?”

Dean relaxes back into the seat, hands sliding from the wheel and resting on his knees instead. Cas waits patiently for an answer, though his palms are steadily getting sweatier and his heart threatens to fly from his chest. Cas is wary when Dean beckons him closer.

Those hazel-green eyes are bright and mischievous as if Dean’s seconds away from telling Cas a secret. Cas shuffles in his seat toward Dean and makes a quiet noise when a hand cups his face. Dean’s thumb strokes his cheek reassuringly. Cas’ eyes flutter shut once he sees Dean angles his head and inclines forward. Right till the point their lips touch, smoothly gliding over each other. Cas traces his tongue over Dean’s plump lips hungrily, fingers coming up and tugging at the light brown tresses of hair.

Dean pulls away and whispers, “Does that answer your question, Novak?”

“It does, indeed,” Cas’ breath hitches. He presses another quick kiss to Dean’s lips, craving to taste him again. “How do I contact you?”

Dean breaks away, opening the glove compartment and pulling out a business card. Cas recognizes it as his uncle’s company’s card. Cas can’t help the butterflies in his stomach taking flight when he sees Dean also take out a ballpoint pen and scribble numbers down. Cas takes and pockets the card with a smile, still in disbelief of his luck.

“Bye, Dean,” Cas says as he steps out of the car, gooseflesh spring up instantly at the cold.

“See you, Cas,” Dean says then turns the key in the ignition, engine rumbling to a start.

Cas waits by the road, allows the snow to give him crisp kisses and watches the silver car drive down the street. He can’t stop smiling as he marches through his snow-blanketed driveway. Cas searches his pockets for his keys but in the end doesn’t need them because the door opens revealing a scowling Meg and an ecstatic Eugene.

“Pa!” Eugene pushes past his babysitter and flings himself forward at Cas. Cas bends his knees and Eugene goes barreling into his father’s arms. An overwhelming sense of gratitude builds up in his chest to the point where it hurts.

“Hello, Eugene,” Cas greets and eases his son off the ground with ease.

“Me and Meg—” Eugene begins with his limbs flailing to find a comfortable place to cling to. He ends up plastered to Cas’ side, hands grabbing tiny fistfuls of his coat.

“Meg and I,” Cas instantly corrects.

“I said that,” Eugene insists then chatters on with invigorating enthusiasm, “Meg and I were playing hunters and demons and there was this big,” he throws his arms out for scale, “bad one that wanted to take and hide all your socks.”

“Is that so?” Cas smiles and gives Eugene’s button nose a fond, gentle tap making the small boy crinkle his nose a little, then burst out into breathless giggles. “So did you manage to rescue all of my socks?” Cas arches his eyebrow.

“U-huh!” Eugene nods.

Meg clears her throat pointedly, dark eyes narrowing forbiddingly. Even though the college student is at least seven inches short than him, Cas knows that the young woman won’t let anybody boss her around and is obviously infuriated that he went back on his word.

“Hi Meg,” he says at the pavement.

“You owe me big time Castiel,” she says sharply.

“I do,” he agrees.

“Like, _big time_ ,” Meg repeats. “I called you! Several times. Why didn’t you answer your damn phone? It’s not like it’s broken!”

_Well…_

Meg puts her hands on her hips. “Look, Cas, babysitting Eugene is fun and you pay really well but I can’t have you doing this to me or to him.”

“I will make it up to you, Meg, I promise I won’t do this again. There was this man and we…” Cas glances at Eugene who is staring back at him. “We lost track of time,” his gaze falls back on Meg and he cocks his head to the side, hoping that she got the message.

Meg snorts. “I figured you were getting some.”

“Some what, Pa?” Eugene asks, inquisitive as always and pokes at Cas’ earlobe with a stubby finger.

“Nothing, Eugene,” Cas reassures his son. He sighs. “I’m sorry Meg. I haven’t… been with anyone for a long time and I’m sorry if I ruined your New Years.”

Meg’s piercing glare softens slightly. Her shoulders suddenly slump forward and she laughs. “I’m a sucker for your puppy dog eyes, Clarence. It’s cool. Send me a bouquet of the thorniest roses you can get and a paycheck.”

“Yes, of course,” Cas nods.

“Well get your butts out of the cold, huh? I gotta scoot,” she shifts her handbag to her other shoulder. When she passes them, Eugene’s hand flies out and catches on her arm.

“Bye-bye Meg,” he says. “When will you come back?”

“I think I need a break from the whole babysitting scene, kiddo,” she tells him with a warm smile. She reaches up to ruffle his hair before walking away.

“Did you have breakfast, Eugene?” Cas asks his son once he closes and locks the front door behind them. “Did Meg make you something to eat?”

“Yeah. Meg made toast,” his little boy replies and slides down to the ground, “but I’m hungry again and want scrambled eggs,” then after a beat adds a polite, “please.”

“Anything you want,” Cas replies. He pauses. “But, how about Pa cleans up then we can think about some lunch, alright?”

“Alright,” Eugene accepts the compromise tottering off in direction of the lounge room.

One of Cas’ feet has just stepped into the bathroom when Eugene returns. This time he is clutching _Buzzer,_ his favourite plush toy— a bumblebee with big eyes and a smile.

Eugene cranes his neck to look up at his father, looks uncertain, then hesitantly queries, “Pa?”

“Yes?” Cas tries not to sound as tired as he feels, beginning to unbutton his dress shirt.

“Where’s Spook?” Eugene chews on Buzzer’s antenna; fidgeting with the oval-shaped, white wings.

“Sh…oot.”

“Is Spookie okay?” A worried frown mars the little boy’s face and the plush toy’s antenna falls from his mouth, a thin line of drooling following it.

“Spook’s fine,” Cas angles down and wipes it away the spittle with his sleeve then maneuvers around Eugene, heading to the phone. He picks up the receiver and dials in his cousin, Anna’s phone.

“Is she dead?” Eugene asks, tone desperate and breaking.

Cas aims a frown down at his son. “No, don’t be ridiculous. Our cat is with Anna.”

“Oh. Why?” Eugene demands.

“I…” Cas trails off when he hears Anna on the other end pick up. “Anna! Hi— Hello—” he stammers.

“ _Cas? Where on Earth did you disappear off to last night?_ ” Anna questions.

Eugene hugs Buzzer close to his chest and sits down on the floor cross-legged at his father’s feet. “I want Spook!”

“I am so sorry Anna that I left Spook with you, that was very inconsiderate of me,” Cas apologizes, one hand resting on his hip.

“ _It’s not a problem. She’s here, missing you and Eugene. I think so anyway. Here kitty,_ ” she coos and there are some shuffling noises. Cas smiles as he hears a very indignant yowl of protest no doubt coming from their cat.

They arrange a time for them to pick up their beloved Bombay. Anna teases him relentless about Dean and Cas genuinely worries his cheeks will burst into flames from how heated they had grown. She promises to keep it hush-hush, especially since Dean’s boss is her father. Cas would never forgive himself if something were to happen in relation to Dean’s work because of their sexual involvements.

Once Cas hangs up, Eugene asks, “Why didn’t you bring Spook home?”

“It’s a very long story and I really do think you’re too young to hear about such things,” Cas tells him.

“I’m _five_ ,” Eugene says indignantly.

 

~*DEAN*~

 

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since Dean’s mind-blowing encounter with Castiel Novak. Two weeks and Dean is ready to claw his own eyes out of frustration. The need for the blue-eyed bastard to be back in his absolutely godforsaken boring life is ruining him.

After all, there are only so many times you can jerk off in your own office without being caught!

Dean doesn’t want to press his luck. But Cas isn’t exactly giving him much to work with, having only called _twice._ The _clicking_ and _clacking_ of his keyboard grows in volume as he jabs the keys with extreme force, knee jumping and shoulders tense. Dean can’t believe this.

He should be feeling over the moon.

It’s been an overall great start to the year, with only a few bumps that were eventually resolved.But the thing is Cas is constantly busy, even more so than himself and he’s the director of sales and marketing of a hard-pressed company. Dean admires how the guy can juggle the work and being a single parent.

“It’s like he has an alter ego or something and at night fights crime or saves kittens,” Dean had complained to his secretary one morning as he pulled his suspenders over his shoulders, getting ready for a team meeting.

“I’m sure you’re overreacting,” she had said and picked at the lint on his lapels.

“Right,” he said with a fake smile and tried really hard to not imagine Cas in a superhero costume.

It’s kind of ironic. With Dean’s past partners, they would hound him for calls and visits… The problem was that he always had that deep devotion to his OSHA approved desk chair and trusty behind-the-ear headset.

Dean answers an incoming call and groans internally when he recognizes the voice as that douche bag Bartholomew Benet. He keeps his voice professional and chooses the passive aggressive route whenever the asshole hits a sore spot.

“… Yes, Benet. Net profitability aside, it’s the client-retention rate that concerns me, vis-à-vis maximizing return on sales…” Dean’s headset beeps, alerting him that someone else is trying to call him. “Buzz me back once you’ve seen the spreadsheets.”

“Dean Smith,” Dean says in a clipped tone.

“ _Hello, Dean?”_

“Cas!” Dean perks up, voice warming immediately. “Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

“ _It’s been going well… Except now I am stuck, this man I’ve been trying to interview for days_ ,” Cas huffs grumpily, “ _he’s completely incorrigible!”_

“Oh really?” Dean’s eyebrow bumps upward and he leans back into his chair, hefting his feet up atop his desk.

“ _Yes,_ really, _he’s an absolute assbutt! He owns this bee farm— Dean, why are you laughing?”_

Dean giggles, almost in tears, “Did you just say ‘assbutt’?”

There’s a pause, then a reluctant, “ _Yes._ ”

“This guy really must be getting on your nerves for you to use such offensive language,” Dean’s pitch raises an octave, his barely controlled laughter making it feel like his stomach is bursting from the seams.

“ _Oh be quiet, you,”_ Cas chides, “ _he really is terrible, Dean._ ”

“Oh I’m sure,” Dean chuckles.

“ _I finally convinced him to show me around his farm. I’m compiling an article about backyard solutions and ideas of harvesting your own food,_ ” Cas says.

“It’s winter, Cas,” Dean points out.

“ _In_ preparation _for spring, Dean,_ ” Cas replies. “ _This place is so far out of town I hope I can make it back on time to pick Eugene up from the care centre— but the man left me in this… this workshop. It’s cold. And it is filthy! There is honey everywhere! Dean, do you realize how hard it is to walk on honey? My shoes are ruined._ ”

“Okay, drama queen,” Dean says, “I get the point. I’d come and rescue you, but I got some statistics to analyze.”

“ _My hero_ ,” Cas deadpans and sounds so disgruntled Dean has trouble not cooing into the speaker piece.

“So… Cas,” he says instead, “what’re you up to this weekend?”

Cas hums. “ _Working. Looking after Eugene. He’s going through a strange phase of wanting to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches constantly… Why? What are you thinking of doing? This weekend?”_

“I dunno,” Dean keeps his tone light, suggestive, “I was thinking: you and me. Saturday night. Having some fun?”

Dean crosses his fingers as he waits for an answer, tongue caught between his teeth.

“ _I would love to, Dean,_ ” Cas says. “ _Do you have a plan?”_

“I do!” Dean plants his feet on the floor, shifting to face his monitor screen. “I scored a bonus from work last week: a free night at the nicest hotel in Cincinnati. Room service is complimentary too.”

“ _That sounds wonderful… Are you going to pick me up? Or vice versa?”_ Cas asks.

“I’ll pick you up,” Dean says immediately.

“ _Such a gentlemen, Mr. Smith_ ,” Cas says.

“But of course, Mr. Novak,” Dean grins. A sudden thought occurs. “You got a babysitter for your son?”

“ _Ah,”_ Cas says, tone indicating that, he does not. “ _I don’t think Meg will be willing after last time…_ ”

“Mmmm,” Dean sounds, “I know an intern. Charlene— I mean, Charlie. I think she does babysitting gigs. I could ask her for us?”

“ _Yes, please. Call me when you find out. I’ll text you my new mobile number,”_ Cas says.

“Okay. I’ll let you know ASAP,” Dean replies. “Talk to you later?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Cas confirms. “ _I have to go now… The bee man is back._ ”

“Bye, then,” Dean says even though Cas has already hung up.

He pulls off his headset, dropping it carelessly on to his desk. It clatters then beeps. Dean scrubs a hand over his face, pushing away the urge to run his hands through his hair. God, he’s smitten. He stretches his arms over his head with a sigh. He’s turning thirty soon and he’s got a goddamn crush. Dean cringes when the word passes through his thoughts; it’s so junior high.

*  
 

Dean’s putting away a few files in his briefcase when Charlie Bradbury announces her presence with a polite knock at the open office door. She is wearing a bright green coat and shouldering a backpack, ready to head home.

“Hi sir,” she salutes, “operations have just let me go for the day.”

“Excellent,” Dean comments, sliding in the last few folios, “come on in Charlie.”

“Thanks,” she takes a step into the office. She lets out a skittish laugh. “Nice room, Mr. Smith.”

“Dean,” the director of sales and marketing insists. “It’s technically after work hours so,” he shrugs.

Charlie’s eyes round as she takes in the shelves to the side filled with awards and souvenirs. Dean claps his hands together, trying to regain her attention.

“This won’t take long but do you want a seat?” he gestures to the chairs in front of his workstation.

“Oh, no, no. I’m fine,” Charlie insists, waving the offer away. “Um, so what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Right,” Dean leaves his case, coming around to stand in front of his desk. “Now, I have to admit this is a bit unprofessional of me to offer you work outside of the company, but how do you feel about babysitting?” he asks.

“Babysitting?” Charlie repeats. “You have kids?”

“No, not me,” Dean laughs, “it’s for—a friend of mine—um…”

“Let me guess,” Charlie smiles knowingly. “Got a date with a single parent?”

Dean gapes. “How did you guess?”

“Because I’m dating one at the moment,” she confesses, “and she’s got twins.”

“She?” Dean blurts out in surprise.

“My girlfriend,” Charlie says.

Dean’s eyes widen. _Oh._

Dumfounded, Dean is silent but is thrown back into reality when the wide smile on Charlie’s face falters.

“Is this a problem?” She asks, showing the first sliver of firm assertiveness, her chin tips upward in a challenging manner in readiness to defend her choice of sexual orientation.

Dean shakes his head vigorously. “No! It’s not a problem at all, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“U-huh,” Charlie says, but doesn’t look entirely convinced.

Damn it. He won’t be able to sway her into babysitting Cas’ son, Eugene if she thinks that he’s homophobic. Dean runs his fingers along the hem of one of his cuffs. He has to tell her he’s gay, especially gay for that blue-eyed bastard that’s put him in this uncomfortable position.

Yes, Dean was open about his sexuality at the New Years party but that was because he saw a chance with Cas and took it. He would hate for this fact about him to be added to the work equation. God knows what some of the employees would say. Dean didn’t even want to think about how Mr. Adler would react.

“Okay, stuff it,” Dean finally says in a rush, “I myself am gay. The guy—the single parent— I’m going on a date with is named Cas Novak, who happens to be Mr. Adler’s nephew and I can’t let anyone at work find out because, well…”

“Mr. Adler as in _Mr. Adler_?” Charlie questions, voice hushed.

“Yes, _that_ Mr. Adler. As in the CEO of Sandover!” Dean replies, slightly manic.

“Shit,” she says bluntly.

“So,” Dean clears his throat, “do you want the job or not?”

“How long do I have to babysit?” Charlie asks.

“Saturday night. Six that night till ten at Sunday?” he suggests.

“Till nine would be better,” she says.

“Nine it is,” Dean nods.

“Okay,” Charlie smiles. “Alright, then, tell me the address…”

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

“Pa,” Eugene says as he approaches his father who has collapsed on to the lounge, clutching a collage he made at day care to his chest. “Can we go to the park?”

“It’s dark outside. We’ll go tomorrow,” Cas slowly sits up, back stiff and sore.

He hooks the top of his socked foot and reels the portable oil heater closer, the wheels sometimes catching on the clumps from the rug beneath it. Warmth bleeds into Cas, making him feel mellow and sleepy. He jumps in surprise when Eugene suddenly clambers up on to his lap.

“Careful,” Cas says, “you’ll crinkle your artwork.”

Eugene shifts, and then throws himself down, his back resting heavily against Cas’ torso. He holds out the A4 page in both hands, fingers pulling at the creased corners. In Cas’ opinion, the piece is a monstrosity: peeling colorful squares and lumps of glitter here and there. Crayon has been etched into any spare space.

“You have the makings of a great artist,” Cas wraps his arms around his son’s front, bracketing him in.

“This is our house,” Eugene points at a big blue rectangle with two squares for windows. A wobbly red triangle had been drawn atop. “And over here— that's you.”

“The orange blob with blue glitter for eyes?”

“Yep.”

“Very nice,” Cas nods, his chin bumping softly against Eugene’s crown. “That’s you?” he puts his thumb over the yellow cutout with a black shape atop of it, similar to a baseball cap. “I recognize the cap.”

“Yeah, it’s the one Mommy sent…” Eugene says, voice softening and trailing off.

“Why don’t you go and put this upstairs in your room, okay, Eugene? Then we can have dinner straight afterwards,” Castiel says.

“Okay!” Eugene brightens at the prospect of food and springs from his father’s lap, running, feet slipping as he scrambles toward the stairs.

Cas wishes he had his son’s energy. He peels himself from the lounge and shuffles toward the kitchen with a yawn. Lethargic, he opens the fridge and grabs a hold of the small pot of leftover chicken noodle soup. Cas winces at the stone cold feel of the metal, fingers cramping. He sets it down on their electrical stove then turns the dial up. The ceiling trembles with Eugene’s movements.

“PA! I CAN’T GET THE BLU-TACK!” the boy hollers.

“Are you in my study?” Cas pokes his head out of kitchen, directing his voice toward the stairs.

Silence. Then, “No!”

“Eugene!” Cas warns.

“I’m not in your study!” Eugene denies.

“Good! Because if you were—” his mobile phone ringing interrupts Cas mid-sentence. His heart jumps. His stomach drops. Could it be Dean? Cas hurries out into the main room, sliding his vibrating phone along the table and into his hand. _Calling: Dean Smith_. Cas refrains from pumping his fist in glee as he thumbs the answer button.

“Dean,” he speaks into his phone.

“ _Hey_ ,” Dean’s smooth, low-toned voice comes through clearly. “ _You have a spare minute_?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers.

“ _Great. I got good news. Charlie’s available to look after Eugene. Six p.m. on Saturday till nine on Sunday morning._ ”

“That is good news,” Cas says as an electrifying buzz runs its course through his body. “You’ll have to pick me up a little while after… I’d like to wait until Eugene is settled.”

“ _No problem,_ ” Dean says. “ _So, what’re you doing right now?”_

“Waiting for dinner to warm up. You?” Cas asks in return.

Dean makes a carefree noise. “ _Resting. I did a bit of exercise. I carry a bit of bloat around, it’s a sedentary lifestyle, my man._ ”

“Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes, “you do not carry ‘bloat’. I would know, I’ve seen you naked.”

Dean chuckles. “ _Damn, Cas, well a guy can’t argue with that._ ”

A wide smile takes over Cas’ face and millions of butterflies decide to exercise their wings against the walls of his stomach. The grin is wiped from his face, however, when he hears a breathy noise from the other end. Cas receives sudden flashbacks to New Years Eve when a certain green-eyed man had been underneath him gloriously needy and aroused, begging for it.

“Dean?” he asks, voice dangerously low. He quickly sends a glance over his shoulder, checking if Eugene was nearby. “You’re not…? Are you?”

“ _Can’t help myself,_ ” Dean gasps and there’s the sound of rustling clothes. “ _I can’t wait to see you, Cas,”_ he admits, ending his statement with a grunt of pleasure.

“Oh!” Cas gasps quietly, both abruptly turned on and scandalized. “Dean,” he tries to sound as assertive as possible, “we can’t do that right now… Eugene’s…”

Dean moans, cutting Cas off, “ _B-but Cas,_ ” the other man stammers,“ _Oh... Oh! Cas, I’ve been a mess without hearing your voice, without seeing you._ ” His harsh pants fill Cas’ ear.

Cas’ toes begin to curl in, a cold sliver of panic sliding down his back because how’s he going to distract Eugene so he can have some time with Dean? The man in question whines his name pleadingly and an idea springs into mind.

“EUGENE!” Cas shouts, running into the lounge room and turning on the television. “Do you want to watch some T.V. before dinner?”

It’s already on a kid’s channel—pastel colours and cute animated animals take up the flat screen. Cheery music plays. Eugene thunders down the stairs. Cas finds the remote and turns up the volume a few notches. He angles his front away from Eugene; he can still hear Dean on the phone, mostly silent except for the few hitches of breath.

“This is the bestest show!” Eugene claps his hands excitedly as he wiggles back into the couch.

“This is the ‘best’ show, Eugene,” Cas corrects, unable to help himself. “Stay and watch, okay?”

“Okay,” Eugene says, half-listening, eyes transfixed on the screen.

Cas quickly presses his phone into his chest to block out the explicit and frankly too loud noises from it. He leaves, taking the stairs two at a time, crossing the corridor quickly and entering the bathroom opposite the two bedrooms. Yellow eyes stare up at him accusingly. Cas mumbles an apology then dives for the cat, and then places the ball of fur outside before closing the door behind him.

“Dean?” Cas raises the phone to his ear, locking the door. Just in case.

“ _F-fuck, Cas, say my name again. I’m so close, so close,_ ” all of Dena’s speech degrades into nothing but unintelligible mutters mingled with soft mewling sounds. Cas sinks to the ground, lightheaded from all the blood that’s rushed to his cock.

“Don’t come yet,” Cas orders Dean. The shuffling sounds in the background of the call lessen. "Good boy," he appraises. 

Broken and desperate, Dean calls his name. Cas struggles one-handedly with the zipper and sighs when the pressure thankfully eases from his engorged cock. He shucks the denim down, hips lifting. The coarse fabric bunches at his thighs. A ragged breath releases from his lips when his twitching dick is freed.

“Dean,” Cas groans, voice rough as sand and dirt and barely recognizable to even himself.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean gasps. “ _Cas…_ ”

Biting down on his bottom lip and drawing blood— he tastes copper— Cas grabs himself. He starts at the base of his cock then strokes along the shaft, knuckles locking around it. His hand works faster, thighs growing taut as he works himself toward his orgasm. The pad of his thumb ghosts along his weeping slit, he says, “Come with me, Dean.”

“ _Ca—!”_ Dean makes a choking noise and Cas closes his eyes, seeing the gorgeous man in the darkness.

Lying on his back sprawled on the bed they had fucked on, cheeks flushed red and skin tacky with sweat. Bowlegs spreading open. A hand sneaks down past his cock to press at his perineum. Cas can imagine those eyes wide and lust-blown, the green in them nothing but a thin circumference of his pupils.

Cas’ release smacks into him quick and hard, making him writhe on the cold tiles, pants haggard. He stifles his cry for Dean. When Cas floats down from his high, he curses at the mess he’s made: come shot over the front of his shirt and on his jeans and speckling the tiles. Dean’s voice on the phone is faint.

“ _Cas?”_            

“Mmm?” Cas asks, unable to manage much else even with his vast vocabulary range.

“ _See you on Saturday, babe,_ ” Dean says, and then hangs up.

“… Wait. Did he just call me ‘babe’?” Cas asks himself incredulously. The grin that stretches his lips hurts his cheeks. Cas fiddles with his mobile, fingers quaking, then eventually texts Dean a message that reads: **_I’ll have my revenge._**

Dean texts back: **_I’ll be waiting for you to try, tough guy._**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to know your thoughts. Don't forget to press that kudos button~


	3. Kiss Me Quick

~*DEAN*~

 

For Dean, Saturday came thankfully quickly. This week the workload had been manageable, meaning that he wouldn’t have to put in any extra hours to get the job done which he was very grateful for. The only noteworthy occurrence was that Mr. Adler had given Dean a surprise visit on Thursday at around noon. It was brief, to say the least. But it got Dean wondering and hoping that maybe all his tireless work was paying off. Maybe Mr. Adler considered him as V.P material.

All Dean has to do is pray to God that his boss wouldn’t find out about Cas.

It bothered him, all the secrecy, but what else was he meant to do? Approach the CEO and say, “hey, you’d never guess what your nephew did to my ass the other day”?

Dean shook his head as he pulls up outside Cas’ house.

His thoughts drift to _the_ phone call and anticipation makes his heart beat faster. It was a bold move on Dean’s part, calling Cas then jerking off to his voice. Did he regret it? Nope. Dean leaves his car and strides toward the Novak residence. The snow has eased off the last few days, but has left a whole lot of slush, so the trek is both cold and wet.

Dean presses the doorbell and chimes resonate from within the house. He feels restless all over and grips the doorframe to ground him, knuckles going pale. Dean taps the cap of his boot on the patio. The door finally opens and Dean looks up. 

“Dean,” Cas is positively beaming, his eyes brighter and bluer than Dean can remember. Instantly, the awkwardness inside him dissipates.

“You look good, Cas,” Dean straightens and his eyes rake over Cas. The man is wearing a grey v-neck sweater over a pale azure collared shirt and dark, _very_ nicely fitting jeans.

“Well this year _has_ been rewarding to me so far,” Cas places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “you look,” the breath in Dean’s lungs depart when blue eyes dart down then up again suggestively, “good too.”

“Come here, you,” Dean grabs the front of Cas’ sweater, pulling him in to bring their lips together in a long-awaited kiss.

“Ah!” Cas gives Dean a small push, hand resting on his pectoral. “Not here,” he whispers, expression darkening.

Cas looks over his shoulder. Dean follows his line of sight. There, on the bottom step of the staircase leading to a second floor is a boy. He’s slim with knobby knees, hair the colour of raven feathers hanging over his eyes and powder blue eyes. This is Cas’ son, no doubt about it.

“Eugene,” Cas waves him over, “come and say hello to Dean.”

Eugene gets to his feet, slips his hand into Cas’ and stares up into Dean’s face with narrow eyes. Dean’s nerves are slowly unraveling, fraying till the point of where he gets the feeling the kid’s going to burst into tears or something horrendous and traumatizing like that. A bead of sweat forms at Dean’s temple. But seemingly after a closer inspection of Dean, the little frown on the boy’s face melts away and is replaced by a dimpled smile.

“Hello!” Eugene greets, carrying and clear. “I'm Eugene Novak! What’s your name?”

“Dean,” the man blinks, genuinely surprised at the abrupt show of confidence, “Dean Smith.”

“Smith? Like John Smith from _Pocahontas_?” Eugene inquires and lets go of Cas’ hand. “I like that movie a lot. Have you seen it? I like Meeko. He’s the baby bear.”

“Racoon, Eugene,” Castiel interjects.

“I said that, ‘racoon’,” Eugene continues, unaffected, “Do you want a cookie?”

Dean smiles, adjusts his pants and crouches to be at eye level with the five-year-old. “I’d love a cookie.”

Eugene delves a hand into his pants pocket and pulls out a crumbling choc-chip treat. “Here you go,” he puts it into Dean’s palm. “It’s the last one and I was going to eat it later but it’s all gross now.”

“ _Eugene_ ,” Cas puts a hand over his eyes with a weary sigh.

Eugene blushes and wrings his hands together. “Sorry, Pa… But Dean wants it!”

“Damn straight, I want it,” Dean puts the whole thing in his mouth, cheeks bulging as he chews the slightly stale cookie. When he swallows, Eugene is looking at him expectantly.

So Dean nods and uses the back of his hand to wipe the crumbs from his mouth. “The best cookie I’ve ever had.”

“Did you hear that, Pa? So we have to get more!” Eugene pulls at the hem of his father’s sweater.

“Need I remind you, Eugene,” Castiel says with an affectionate smile pulling at his lips, “that you told me the other day that you only wanted crackers? No cookies?”

Leaning against Cas’ leg, the five-year-old struggles to hide a cheeky grin. “Oh, yeah,” he says, “I forgot!”

“Of course,” Cas shakes his head.

“But I really like cookies now,” Eugene says.

Cas smoothens down Eugene’s wild hair. “We can go back to eating cookies once we’ve finished the crackers.”

“But—”

“ _Eugene_.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Dean stands and watches the exchange with a growing sense of warmth he can’t quite identify. It’s tingly and addictive but not in a burning sexual way. Pleasant in that he likes the way Cas’ eyes squint a tiny bit when he smiles down at his son who is staring up at his father like he put the sun and moon and stars in the sky. Dean checks his watch and the movement catches Cas’ eye.

“I have to get my phone, and then we can go,” the blue-eyed man says and reaches over to wrap a hand over Dean’s bicep and squeeze slightly.

Heart fluttering, Dean replies only with, “Okay,” then _quite subtly_ checks out Cas’ ass in those jeans as he turns and walks further into the house. Eugene watches his father go too, but obviously not sharing the same reason as Dean.

“Why are you going?” Eugene asks and extends his arms, compact little hands occupying themselves by turning the doorknob back and forth. “Where are you going? Can I go too?”

Dean shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes shifting from Eugene to the floor. “Listen… Gene,” he freezes, looking the boy in the eye, “can I call you that?”

“Gene,” Eugene tests it out, pouts his lips. He presses his cheek against the wood of the door. The baby fat of his cheeks balloon out while he thinks it over. “Yeah,” he finally agrees and nods eagerly. He _likes_ it.

“Do you ever have sleepovers?” Dean asks.

“Sometimes,” Eugene says, “not a lot.”

“But you do have them,” Dean clarifies.

“Yeah,” Eugene confirms.

Dean nods slowly, “Okay, so, have you ever seen your dad have a sleepover?”

Apprehension follows an expression of bewilderment on Eugene’s face, as he admits quietly, “No… never.”

“Well,” Dean clears his throat, “your dad and I are gonna spend the night together and be right back here in the morning.”

“Okay,” Eugene says, blinking in confusion. A frown puckers his brow.

“That all right you with you?” Dean questions.

“Is what all right?” Cas asks, appearing with Charlie Bradbury the intern-slash-babysitter in tow.

Out of work, Dean probably would never have recognized her if they passed each other on a street. But she certainly would have caught his eye with her bright printed-tees and patterned leggings. Charlie salutes him and he waves back, feeling unusually uncomfortable. Dean’s never been _close_ to anyone at the office, even though he’s worked there for a number of years. There never seemed to be a point in Dean’s opinion since he spent more time with the people there then he did with his family in Sioux Falls.

“Pa, you’ve never had a sleepover?” Eugene turns to face his father.

Cas frowns. “Not in a long time, no. Why do you ask—?”

“Because you and I are having a sleepover,” Dean cuts in with a sly smirk, “right, Cas?”

Charlie covers her snort with a light cough, hand over her mouth and saves them both by beckoning Eugene over. “Hey! Eugene,” her smile is blinding, “how about we let these two bozo’s go and we can have some fun?”

“Fun?” Eugene bounces on the balls of his feet. He drifts toward her.

Cas steps out of his son’s way and grabs a black canvas jacket from the coat stand. He slides his arms into the sleeves, expression torn between relief and disbelief. Dean will have to ask later if it’s hard for Cas to have any spare time with Eugene on his hands.

“What fun?” Eugene is asking.

“I brought some costumes in that big bag I own, do you want to check it out?” Charlie asks, outstretches her hand to him.

“Oh,” Eugene takes it, “Dress-ups,” he says, almost scornful.

Charlie laughs, “Just you wait, you little gremlin, you’ll be rethinking your views on ‘dress-ups’ once you’ve seen what I’ve brought.”

“Goodbye, Eugene,” Cas calls out as he shoulders a small leather travel bag and slides his feet into a pair of winter boots. Eugene says a goodbye, not looking too terribly heartbroken. Dean watches in amusement as Cas crosses the threshold, hopping, as he ties his laces.

“Oh and Charlie don’t forget to latch the door behind us… If someone calls just tell them to call back tomorrow—” he wobbles and Dean clutches his hip to steady him.

“Easy, big boy,” Dean chuckles, fond and easy. Cas flushes and Dean wants to kiss those heated cheeks. “Here, let me,” he says and sinks down to tie Cas’ boots laces for him.

“Oh, thank you,” Cas says, breathless. He cranes his neck round and tells Charlie, “But if they say it’s urgent then give him or her my cell number.”

“Sure thing,” Charlie says, hand on the doorknob. Dean stands and brushes his hands over his thighs.

“Good to go, Cas,” he gives Cas a thumbs-up.

Cas breathes out, a white fog escaping past his lips. His shoulders loosen. “Let’s go…” then he spins around abruptly and puts a foot in the door. Charlie lets out a startled yelp.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims.

“And make sure Eugene eats _all_ of his peas from those leftovers in the fridge,” Cas says firmly.

“O-okay!” Charlie says.

“Aw, but, _Pa_ I hate peas!” Eugene complains.

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

A breeze sweeps past them as they walk and shudder runs through Cas’ body.

Dean tosses him a concerned look. He hesitates. Then wraps his arm around Cas’ shoulders, making him melt into the warmth of the embrace. Cas is grateful.

Although the idea of going for a walk was a good idea— it doesn’t mean Cas was prepared for it. He wishes he had worn more layers. Then again, if he had, Dean wouldn’t have sidled up to him like this and offered his body heat. Daring, Cas sneaks his arm around. His gloved hand rests on the small of Dean’s back. He bites the inside of his cheek when Dean tenses and he waits with bated breath.

“Here,” Dean says, reaches, fingers curling round Cas’. “I don’t mind.”

Cas squints in confusion, then smiles wide as his brought forward and placed on the jut of Dean’s hip. It’s meditative: the sound of their feet against the snow-dappled pavement and the feel of Dean breathing, slow and easy.

“I like to come here whenever I have the time to,” Dean says, breaking the silence.

Cas glances up; the trees stripped of their leaves create a tunnel of twisted bare branches. It has an eerie beauty.

“I haven’t been here before,” Cas admits.

“Do you like it?” Dean asks.

Cas nods. “Very much. Eugene always wishes to go to parks where there are playgrounds.”

“Understandable,” Dean grins, “but… just round here’s the best part.”

Cas perks up, interested. The road splits in two and they take the right, it leads them to an open area of just snow. It’s nearing seven o’clock but there are still people out—families and couples who romp around in the snow. The city appears hazy and aglow in the background. The only sound in the night is laughter.

Cas whines at the loss of warmth as Dean steps out from their hold. Dean turns back at the noise, eyebrows raised and smiling. He’s breathtaking. Dean grasps Cas’ hand and tugs him forward. Cas tilts his head, shuffling forward, ground crunching under his boots.

“What are we doing?” he asks, suspicion crawling into his voice.

Dean’s eyes dance with light. “Come on! Let’s have fun.”

“Fun?” Cas repeats, taken aback.

Dean sighs, growing exasperated. “Yes, Cas, _fun_. I understand it’s probably a foreign concept to you, but—”

Cas shakes his head and strides forward, all but dragging Dean behind him. They find a perfect patch of snow, their feet slipping a little as they navigate around. With much encouragement from Dean, Cas copies his date by going on to his knees and molding snow with his hands.

“This is certainly, a most unique date,” Cas comments, packing the snow in. A basic snowman shape is slowly appearing.

“I haven’t made a snowman in forever,” Dean says. “Make the head, won’t you?”

“Forever?” Cas prompts, doubtful.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, okay. Not since college, perhaps… Say, Cas? Where were you born?”

“Oh, in Cincinnati,” Cas replies. “You?”

Dean wipes at his eyes with the back of his mitten-covered hand. “Well, my adopted parents dug up that I was born in Lawrence, Kansas.”

“You’re adopted?” Cas questions.

“I was abandoned when I was real small,” Dean confesses. “What a sob story, huh?”

Cas’ heart clenches painfully in his chest. “Dean, oh, that’s terrible…” His stomach churns at the thought of a child being left alone to fend for themselves. Cas would never forgive himself if something like that were to happen to his own son, Eugene.

Dean shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. “Long time ago.”

He is curious to how old Dean was, wants to ask if he ever reconnected with his biological parents to seek out the truth. Perhaps he will ask later, in order to not spoil their date.

“But you have a good family now, yes?” Cas asks, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Dean nods, a smile curving his lips, his pearly white teeth showing. “U-huh. The best.” 

“Do they live nearby?” Cas asks. “Here in Cincinnati?”

“No,” Dean says, “in Sioux Falls. South Dakota. I grew up there.”

“That’s far,” Cas hums. The snow crumbles in his hands, the bigger clumps not forming with the smaller ones. It is most frustrating. He has never known snow to be so difficult to manipulate. Cas scowls. “The snow is not doing what I want it to do.”

Dean looks up and snorts at the lumpy mass Cas has cupped in his hands. He has trouble speaking, his endearing giggles interrupting his own words.

“J-Jesus Christ,” Dean chortles, eyes getting wet with amusement, “what the fuck is _that?”_

“It’s the head?” Cas says, unsure, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. His eyes fall on the base of their snowman, Dean’s project, which is currently going less than successfully. Cas gets a surge of smugness. “To put it lightly, it’s not like you are doing any better, Dean,” he teases.

It’s Dean’s turn to grow pink. “Shut up,” he mumbles and tries to knead the snow together into one body.

Cas isn’t paying any more attention to the pathetic excuse of a half-built snowman he and Dean have made together. He’s lost in this feeling of being above the clouds. Dean’s lips are pursed with agitation and concentration. His hazel green eyes glint with determination. Cas’ll give it to him— Dean’s a fighter. He’s the type who won’t back down easy, doesn’t matter the circumstance. Cas both likes and admires that quality in Dean. If only Cas had someone before in his life like that, someone he could have learnt from so he would have not been such a coward during his marriage.

“You lost something over here, Novak?” Dean asks, brow arched and mouth twisted into a smirk.

Cas blinks. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What are you thinking about now?” Dean frowns.

“Nothing,” Cas says vaguely.

“Yeah, right—give me that snowman head— far out, Cas! It looks like a potato,” Dean unceremoniously drops it on top of his half of the snowman.

It collapses.

Cas can’t help it, he laughs. The force of it shakes his body and brings tears to his eyes. He isn’t sure why the failure of a snowman was so funny. Cas blames the expression on Dean’s face in the end, it looked so perplexed and then insulted. _How dare you fall apart?_ His furrowed eyebrows and upturned mouth said.

For a moment Cas forgets all his worries and problems.

Dean helps him up, grumbling about that _damn snowman, it was a stupid idea, anyway_. Cas clings to the other man’s arm, attempting to pull himself together.

“S-Sorry,” he stammers, still trying to control his laughter. “Would you consider getting food soon?”

“Yeah, I can hardly feel my fingers,” Dean smiles at him, looking boyish and bright. “Room service sound good? I know it’s not a fancy restaurant but…”

“It’s perfect,” Cas interrupts.

 

~*DEAN*~

 

Dean turns around in a full circle, a pleased smile on his face as he takes in the hotel lobby. Of the rich timbers and chandeliers that made the prodigious area glow with a charm that was both welcoming and magical. He crosses his arm and thinks: _This is one heck of a bonus._ Cas glances left and right, face impassive.

“You all right, Cas?” Dean asks, stepping closer.

Cas’ jaw clenches. “Yes, just… Nervous. I suppose.”

“Why?” Dean laughs and puts his arm around Cas’ shoulders, drawing him close. “Do I make you nervous, Novak?” he teases, jostling the other man playfully.

Cas rolls his eyes. “In your dreams,” the quiver in his voice betrays him and his chin dips, “it’s just… It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date. I don’t know why it’s affecting me _now_. I just—” he breaks off with a frustrated sigh.

“Hey…” with his thumb and forefinger, Dean lifts Cas’ face and angles it toward him. “No judgment from me. I gotta be frank with you, I haven’t been on a date in a while.”

“Oh, really?” Cas arches a brow, voice full of doubt.  

“I’m serious!” Dean lets go of Cas’ jaw, taking a step back. He reaches forward, lacing his woolen-covered fingers with Cas’ and looking deep into those baby blues. “I’m not much a dating kind of guy,” he admits quietly, “especially with my type of employment. But I’ll make an exception just for you.”

Cas’ eyes dilate, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Dean…” he says, touched.

Dean hooks his finger in the neckline of the other man’s sweater and jacket, reels him in and plants a kiss on Cas’ soft lips.

Cas responds instantly, one of his hands coming up to comb through then fist his hair. The slow caress of his lips quenches a thirst in Dean. Cas’ mouth leaves his, then returns, then leaves again— the repetition of the melding of their lips causes lightheadedness in Dean.

“As much as,” Dean says between kisses, “I’d love to make out,” his date wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, “ _Mmm_ — Cas…”

Cas pulls away after Dean resorts to making a loud, and muffled, noise of protest. “Yes, Dean?” his voice is impatient.

Dean is breathless when he finally gets out, “As much as I’d love to make out with you in the middle of the room with all these people around… What do you say we head up to our room?”

“Yes, good idea,” Cas says with a single nod.

Soon enough, it’s just the two of them and the absolutely voluminous space. They toe their snow-ruined footwear off at the door and drop their bags on the broad table in the centre of the room, glancing around and taking in every detail. On one side of the room is a king-sized bed, adorned with pillows. A flat screen T.V. and a bench are opposite it. Cas slides a leather bound thin booklet from the table. Dean sees the words ‘room service’ and ‘menu’ imprinted in gold on the front cover.

Dean takes his gloves off and unbuttons his coat. His fingers are numb from the cold outside, but they burn and tingle with the temperature difference of the room. His eye catches something else on the other side of the room, beside the entrance to the en suite.

“ _Dude_ ,” Dean says in barely contained excitement, “is that a hot tub?”

Cas looks up from pulling off his jacket and sees in the far corner: wooden steps leading to a cylindrical tub. A fake rock wall overshadows the feature. Red, stumpy, unlit candles were hidden between the surrounding small boulders.

“Would you…?” Cas slides his arms out of his jacket sleeves and hangs it from the back of a chair.

He peels off his gloves, and then brushes his hair off his forehead. The snowflakes that had littered the man’s dark mop of hair are gone, but have made the strands wet and therefore clump together. Dean adores the messiness of it.

“Would I, what, Cas?” Dean asks.

Hope, desire. They’re writhing inside of him and threatening to boil over. Cas traps his bottom lip with his front teeth momentarily, playing with the flesh, turning it red. Indecisive. Then blue eyes meet green, expression sly. Dean realizes that the bastard’s making him wait. Teasing him. He shrugs off his black coat and it hits the ground.

Two can play this game.

“You mean,” Dean says as he slides a finger into the waistband of Cas’ jean, “would I like to get on my knees…”

Cas inhales sharply, “Dean,” he says, voice like gravel and grit, hand trailing along Dean’s arm then gripping hard at his bicep.

 Dean steps in closer, heartbeat erratic, “And suck you off right here and now?” he presses flush against Cas, hand dipping further down, past the waistline of underwear.

His fingers wrap around Cas’ length, it fills and pulses with the onrush of blood and heat. Dean’s smirk is victorious as he both feels and hears his lover’s breath catch. The hand on his arm tightens hard enough to leave bruises.

Undeterred, Dean whispers into Cas’ ear, close to breathlessness, lips ghosting against skin, “Or would I like us in that hot tub with your cock buried in my ass? _Giving it to me_ ,” he nips at Cas’ earlobe lightly, “like I know you can?”

The next thing Dean knows is that hands are clutching at the backs of his thighs and lifting him.

A grunt of surprise escapes his mouth. Not something he expected from the slightly shorter man. His hand snaps out of Cas’ pants, flailing, with the sudden unbalanced nature of his stance. It doesn’t last long. Cas sets him down on the edge of the nearby table. It’s covering layer of glass juts into the area below his ass.

“Do you want that?” Cas palms Dean through his pants, encouraging the bulge that’s already there to grow. “Do you want _me?”_

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean hisses but is cut short when Cas kisses him, open-mouthed, tongue forcing in and sliding against his.

Lost in lust, he moans and his legs wrap around Cas, drawing him in. Their clothed erections find friction against each other. Sparks. Dean thrusts down to meet Cas’ rolling hips, chaotic. Blunt fingernails mark up his back— digging, scraping— with tendrils of heat in their wake. Dean’s fingers tangle in Cas’ hair, fisting the dark strands.

Shivers wrack his body as deft fingers finding their way under his shirt, skimming and soothing against Dean’s flushed skin. Cas sways backward, lips slick and pupils blow, hair a tangled mess. Each pant for breath synchronised in the struggle for the simple ability to do so.

Cas guides the clothes off of Dean, actions much slower than before. Allows the broad-shouldered man to scoot off the tabletop. As he does, Dean pulls away the sweater and shirt that hide Cas and the tan expanse of smooth skin from him.

“I’ve missed you,” Dean admits, his finger traces the line of Cas’ zipper tantalizingly. “I know that might sound weird..."

“No,” Cas says, hands rubbing up and down Dean’s bare sides. His smile is barely there on his lips, but shines clear through his eyes. A sense of peace washes over Dean as Cas cups his face. “I’m not sure I quite understand it. But when I’m with you, there’s something that doesn’t make me feel the stress of work and home.”

Dean laughs more out of relief that Cas gets what he’s blabbering about rather than amusement. “Well,” he leans in and presses a kiss to his lover’s lips, “shall we get round to relieving some of that stress?”

“If you’re ready, I am,” Cas says.

Goosebumps rise on Dean’s flesh as Cas trails his well-muscled hands over his torso, raking those blunt nails of the nubs of his nipples. Anticipation makes Dean’s chest tighten, heart fluttering like a bird frantically reaching open sky.

Together, they head in the direction of the indoor spa as they help each other rid themselves of the last of their clothing. Surprisingly in quick time, Dean and Cas ascend the stumpy steps leading to the tub.

Dean slides in first, groaning as he does. The water comes up past his belly button.

“Fuck, God, it’s heavenly,” he comments.

It feels as the warmth of the water is melding to him like a second skin. His once lulling erection curls with the sensation. He turns around when the movement of the water alerts him that Cas had entered as well.

“It is,” Cas sighs and perches himself on one of the seats inside the tub, tipping his head back, baring his neck. “Heavenly, yes. That is the perfect adjective.”

“Or can’t you think of anything else? Mr. Journalist?” Dean smirks teasingly as he glides toward Cas, partly weightless in the water. Cas gives him a disapproving scowl, pouting, while Dean straddles his thighs.

“You speechless too, now?” Dean locks himself in around Cas, hands bracing on the edge of the tub and their thighs touching. He kisses Cas, a quick press of lips.

“No,” Cas pulls away, “in fact, I am silently plotting against you,” he reveals and there’s a glint in his eyes that excites Dean.

Water drips off Cas’ arm as he raises it. His fingers outstretch for the dial embedded in the plastic. Jets and streams of bubbles burst into the once still and calm waters.

The sudden whirring noise of it startles Dean. His heart rate accelerates, bounding and leaping.

“Remember how I said I was going to have my revenge?” Cas asks, hips rolling forward.

Dean nods and mewls as their dicks brush in a feather-light touch. Heat unfurls in his gut. Dean scrambles toward Cas, greedy for more, for them to be touching. Wet hands slipping over triceps, nails lightly clawing.

But Cas shows Dean that he won’t have any of that, gripping him hard by the hips and revolving them around.

Water spills over the rim as Dean’s back bounces on the plastic panel and he gasps, “Cas!”

Cas rises.

Rivulets of water trickle over his bare and flushed skin. Dean ducks his head, mouth opening and tongue darting out and chasing the droplets, tasting Cas. Peppering his lover’s chest with sucking, wet, warm kisses. Dean breathes in Cas’ scent, hums when a hand threads through his hair.

That hand fists his hair, tugs him away, ceasing his ministrations.

“Dean, I want you to sit on the ledge,” Cas requests, even though the statement didn’t sound like much of a question.

“Alright,” Dean breathes, lifting himself out of the water and resting his buttocks where tub meets the first of the shallow timber steps. He shivers at the contrasting temperature, the air con chilly to the wet upper half of his body.

Dean’s cock grows rock-hard when both of Cas’ hands slip over his knees then massaging the insides of his thighs.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, toes curling in the hot water.

The green-eyed man audibly gulps when Cas’ tongue flicks out to wet his pink lips. Cheeks aflame, breaths shallow, Dean feels helpless and completely vulnerable to Cas, who is at eye-height with his erect dick.

He whines low and squirms when hot breath fans over the sensitive head of his member. The suspense is killing him.

 “Cas—” he chokes when Cas’ mouth is finally around him, suckling the tip of his cock, “ah! Oh, God, yes!” he wants to fuck into that teasing, slick heat.

Dean runs his fingers through the mop of disarrayed black hair. He wants to pull Cas closer, but he wouldn’t want to force the guy. No way. Dean’s train of thought derails when Cas hollows out his cheeks.

His back arches, hips rolling, throbbing cock searching for more touch of Cas’ tongue. Hands grapple with his bucking hips, thumbs digging into the dip of his hipbones. Holding Dean down. Yeah, Cas is sure as hell taking that revenge he vowed to have.

“Goddamn it, Cas, I _need_ ,” he squirms, frustration building, “I need you…” his plea melt into a moan as Cas takes Dean further into his mouth. He cries out when Cas wraps a hand on Dean’s length, where his mouth can’t reach and tugs with the rhythm of his sucking mouth.

“Oh!” Dean throws his head back, voice wrecked. Subconsciously, he spreads his legs wider for Cas. He was trembling all over, a burning heat itching all over his flesh. Cas pulls off, the air punches out of Dean’s lungs at the loss of contact on his dick.

“Cas?” he questions when Cas’ hands gently push him. Dean puts his arms out behind him to keep himself upright. He stills, unsure.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas says, voice hoarse.

His thumb rubs soothing circles on to Dean’s hipbone. Cas is beautiful; eyes dilated and sharp cheekbones flushed pink. Body glistening with water and sweat, his touch is grounding and solid. Trustworthy.

“Follow my lead.”

Dean relaxes, nods once and lets Cas’ hands direct him, guide him.

Allows Cas to put him where the other man wants. Cas lowers his head, eyes hooded, expression pleased and lewd. Dean sucks in a strangled breath when Cas’ tongue meeting the puckered flesh of his entrance, pulse skyrocketing.

“Oh my fucking— Holy shit!” Dean’s hand darts forward to grip his cock at the base, to stop himself from coming.

_Coming untouched._

Almost collapsing flat on his back, Dean barely stables himself. Cas’ tongue relentless at it laps and delves as deep as it can reach.

“So close, Cas, babe,” Dean mewls, moans increasing in volume as his orgasm rushes ever closer.

From head to toe, his muscles go taut.

With one fist, Dean jerks himself off. The other is clenching till the point it shakes. Suddenly, his lover’s face comes into his hazy view and their lips sloppily finding each other. Cas’ hand is added to the tugging of Dean’s cock.

In his delirious state, Dean manages to get his hand wrapped around Cas’ rock-hard, throbbing member.

“Dean!” the dark-haired man’s hips undulate, water escapes the tub in waves. Both of them are clawing for breath, quickly coming apart with each other’s touches.

“ _Fuck—!”_ Dean breaks off into a broken scream of pleasure, orgasm wracking his body.

He comes in long white streams, spurting over his stomach and thighs. Dean vaguely hears Cas coming with a grunt, and then feels him spilling over his tight-locked fingers.

“O-oh,” Cas’ back bows as the last of his release escapes him. “ _Oh_ …” he sighs, mouth gaping. “Dean.”

“M’ here,” Dean slurs and slumps forward, leaning heavily against Cas.

His arms drape over Cas’ shoulders. A nose nuzzles the skin of Dean’s neck. He replies in turn by drifting his lips over the knob of one of Cas’ collarbones. It’s an incredibly unfair and a goddamn miracle in Dean’s mind that Cas can even manage being upright.

A chuckle rumbles out of him. Cas trails a dripping wet hand up Dean’s arm and rests it on the back of his neck. Squeezes questioningly.

“You’re a son of a bitch, Cas,” Dean huffs out.

“What?” a note of confusion in his voice.

“From now on,” he looks Cas in the eyes: his fucking gorgeous, otherworldly blue, _blue_ eyes. “I’m going to get an instant boner every time I see or get into a hot tub,” he replies, lips twitching as he attempts, but fails, to not grin. Cas laughs quietly in that baritone gravelly way of his. The sound makes his heart flutter. Heat creeps into his cheeks. And Dean can’t believe that he’s actually _blushing_ like a virgin, which he sure as hell isn’t.

“Come,” Cas lets go of Dean, to kick back off the wall slightly and immersing himself further into the writhing, bubbling waters.

“Already did that,” Dean smirks, chest puffing at his own joke. Cas returns only to thwack Dean— rolling his eyes as he does so, then without warning, drags Dean into the water by the arm.

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

Morning came all too quickly after a truly exhilarating and wonderful night. Cas enjoyed the time Dean and he spent in the hot tub. Allowing the bubbles and warm waters to soothe and wash away the mundane kind of stresses.

Sharing unhurried kisses. Becoming intimate with each other’s bodies. They stayed in the indoor pool until the air was too thick and some of their skin was wrinkly.

Cas remembers clearly the laugh lines by Dean’s vivid green eyes when they toweled each other off. With the towel, Dean had roughly ruffled Cas’ hair till it made him dizzy. Cas wanted to keep the sound of Dean’s laughter and store it away.

It was a lovely, melodious sound and it felt even more uplifting to know that Cas was the cause of it.

Once dressed, they decided to order room service. Dean had blushed when his stomach growled. Cas found it sweet that Dean had become so flustered over such a little and natural thing.

They lounged on the cushy king-sized bed, picking at their food. For desert, Dean was adamant in sticking to the fruits while Cas teasingly spooned chocolate mousse. In the end Dean had kissed him senseless, claiming innocently afterwards that he had only wanted a ‘taste’. It wasn’t long that the two of them fell asleep, watching a rerun of _Project Runway_ on T.V.

“Good morning,” a kiss to Cas’ temple woke him.

Cas stretches, making a quiet noise of protest.

He buries his face into the pillow while grumbling, no words yet, his ability for using words isn’t ready yet. A shaking sensation against his side jostles him further awake— Dean’s chuckling. Cas shivers when Dean’s hand creeps up his back. He leans into the other man’s caresses, enjoying the feeling.

“Not a morning person?” Dean asks, a note of amusement in his voice.

Cas opens his eyes, rather unwillingly and frowns, unimpressed that he hasn’t drifted back to sleep yet. Dean is on his side, head propped by his hand. He lies on top of the blankets, one leg thrown over Cas. Dean’s thigh presses heavily over Cas’ behind, apparently and effectively trapping him.

Cas notices that Dean’s no longer wearing the pajamas from last night, but instead is donned in a cream henley shirt and dark grey jeans. Looking comfortable. Shoulders lax and with an easy grin on his face. Dean’s eyebrows rise expectantly and Cas remembers that Dean had been asking him something. Cas can’t quite remember.

“What?” he asks.

Dean snorts. “I asked, ‘not a morning person’?”

“Oh,” Cas covers his yawn with a hand. “ _No…_ ” he replies, “not really.”

“How does that work, what with, Eugene being around and all?” Dean questions, tongue between his teeth momentarily.

Cas doesn’t comprehend _how_ or _why_ Dean is finding this funny. The shades of green in Dean’s eyes seem brighter when he’s genuinely smiling anyhow and Cas is far from complaining.

“It doesn't,” Cas deadpans. “I am usually woken by Eugene at six o’clock or even earlier. It is most unpleasant, but I am used to it now.”

“Well, right now, it’s about eight,” Dean tells him, “so I’m counting that as a decent sleep-in for a guy like you.”

“How long have you been awake?” Cas asks, moving on to his side to face Dean. Dean’s leg slides back, much to Cas’ disappointment. He’s too embarrassed to ask Dean to put it back where it was.

“Oh,” Dean rubs at his eye with a knuckle, “for a half hour, I’d say.”

Cas groans and hefts the blankets up to his neck. “I can’t move.”

“You just did,” Dean points out. “But, if it’s any consolation— I had trouble gettin’ up as well. Took me a few go’s and I’m still feeling groggy.”

Cas breathes in deeply through his nose, allowing his tired eyes to close, wanting to be still for a moment. Soak in the feel of Dean beside him. Unable to help it, his lips twitch upward as he recalls the events of last night. It was a good night. The worst thing about it is that tomorrow night; he won’t be able to experience it again.

Lord, does he want to, though. Oh, again, again and again for as long as possible.

Cas can’t see himself getting bored with Dean.

“Dean?” he murmurs, eyes still sealed shut. Hiding away like the coward he is. He won’t be able to do this looking at Dean— charming, too good to be true, overwhelming Dean.

“Yeah?”

“Do… Do you think we could do this again?” Cas asks tentatively.

Dean is quiet for a beat, then, “I’d love to.”

Cas relaxes, opening his eyes, his heart jumps at how close Dean has gotten.

Cas allows a smile to cross his face, and he knows, that he probably looks infinitely hopeful. Concern lances through his chest when he picks up on how Dean’s fingers tremble a little. He reaches and puts a hand over Dean’s, whose cheeks inexplicably and adorably turn pink at the tender touch.

“To think,” Dean says, “I wanted to kinda rip your throat out when I first met you.”

Cas laughs at that. “I don’t blame you. I’m an ass. It’s something you’ll have to put up with, I’m afraid.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t mind,” he says in a rush, then goes wide-eyed like he’s said something he hadn’t processed properly. “No one’s perfect,” he adds.

“Except for you,” Cas says, half-joking, half-serious, as he slowly works his way out of the cocoon of blankets he’s made around himself during his sleep.

“Hah!” Dean barks, moving to sit up. “Flattery won’t get you nowhere, Novak. Well, it might. But it won’t work on me!”

“Oh, really?” Cas arches a brown at Dean before turning to throw his legs over the edge of the bed.

He stretches his arm above his head. He stands and turns, crossing his arms, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. Dean crawls on the bed, heading in Cas’ direction.

“What if…” Cas says as he cups the side of Dean’s face once he’s in reach. “I said that you were handsome beyond words? That no language but that of the tongues of the angels could describe how breathtaking you are?”

Dean’s face flushes, cocky grin being replaced with an in-awe and uncertain and attentive smile.

“Could I worship you?” Cas continues, voice dipping low and quiet, “Would you let me?” he runs his thumb over one of Dean’s well-defined cheekbones. He can feel the heat in his skin.

“Cas,” Dean rises on to his knees, hands drawing Cas in, “don’t say shit like that.”

Cas scowls. “Why not?”

“Well,” Dean stammers, “it’s just… not true. Sure, I’ve been told I’m good-looking. But I’m not,” he flusters, “to be worshipped or whatever. You’re full on spouting poetry on something not worth it, Cas.”

“Don’t degrade yourself,” Cas admonishes, bemused. “You’re special to me now.”

“What are you saying?” Dean demands, suddenly looking irritated. “What do you mean ‘now’? I just don’t understand—”

“Do you want to be with me?” Cas asks, holding Dean’s hands in his.

“I am with you,” Dean replies, blinking rapidly in confusion.

And Cas thought _he_ was the think one out of the two of them. “As in, be _together_.”

“Together,” Dean repeats.

Cas sucks in a breath, gaining determination as he expresses what he’s been thinking hard about lately in relation to Dean, “I enjoy your company, and I trust you to an extent. If you say ‘yes’, we could be more. But if we’re going to have a relationship, I don’t want any more complications than necessary. Be forthright with me.”

Dean gapes. “R-Relationship?”

“I’m sorry, am I doing this too quickly? Have I read this wrongly?” Cas asks in a rush.

“W-Wait! Slow down, Cas, it’s fine. I just…” Dean narrows his eyes, almost like he’s suspicious. “Let me get this right. You want us to be boyfriends? Is that what you want?”

“If you want it, then I do as well,” Cas says.

“Well, what are we now, then?” Dean asks, taking his hands away from Cas’. Cas steps back as Dean moves off the bed to stand.

“I don’t know,” Cas says honestly. “And with our lifestyles… I know and you know that we’re both so busy and I just want to make this less confusing.”

“Okay,” Dean rubs the back of his neck with one, the other hanging limp by his side. “I guess that makes sense.”

“And?” Cas prompts.

“Listen, Cas, I really do like you. I know we’ve known each other, for what, a bit more than two weeks?”

“Give or take,” Cas nods.

“Yeah and there’s nothing more I’d like to keep this,” he gestures around, “going. But I’m not sure I can commit to being boyfriend material. I told you before, I ain’t worth more of your time.”

“That’s not true,” Cas says firmly. He can feel what they have between them slipping away out of his grasp. It’s like the spell cast on them is fading. From Dean’s stiff posture and stance, Cas can tell that he’s feeling the effect of this reality check as well.

Dean wrings his hands together for a few seconds. “Alright,” he says, “how about… we be exclusive?”

Cas tilts his head.

“We don’t have to do all that normal shit, even though, I’m not too sure what the normal shit is,” Dean babbles, then catches himself and continues, “ _Anyways,_ what I’m saying is that we don’t go and see anyone else. So we’re together. But not… Boyfriends?”

Cas frowns. “I…” he thinks about it. “It makes a little bit of sense.”

“We gotta be honest with ourselves, Cas, we just don't have enough time at the moment to be… I don't know. Sleeping at each other’s places or going out to dinner every week,” Dean says.

“That’s true,” Cas says.

“Or have sex every Tuesday, or meet each other’s parents, or plan cruise trips,” Dean lists.

“Sex every Tuesday?” Cas perks up.

Dean pauses. Their eyes lock.

“I usually have a meeting in the afternoon,” Dean admits.

Cas sympathizes by saying, “And I go to the playground with Eugene on Wednesday mornings.”

“Oh well,” Dean sighs. “We can only dream.”

“Yes… Oh! _Oh my gosh—_ I forgot about Eugene— what time is it?” Cas demands, striding off one way then turning around and going in another direction.

“Almost nine,” Dean announces.

“ _Fuck!”_ Cas hisses as he hurriedly buzzes about the hotel room.

“You should swear more often, it’s sexy when you do it,” Dean comments.

“I can’t believe I forgot all about Eugene…” Cas sighs, filing away what Dean had said for later use. “I was too worked up about figuring _us_ out.”

Dean leans against the front door, his bag already packed and ready to go, having woken up earlier and spent them time wisely. “From my understanding,” he says, “So, you and I are _not_ boyfriends—”

“Not yet,” Cas interrupts, yanking down his pajama shorts.

“But we’re only going to seek each other out?” Dean confirms.

“Yes, romantically and sexually,” Cas answers distractedly as he searches for a belt.

Dean nods. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Cas looks up to Dean and pauses to give him a smile. True happiness makes his chest tighten. It’s like his pulse triples in speed when Dean returns the smile, still looking slightly overwhelmed but _glad_.

Cas hopes their relationship, built on odd foundations, will work out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos me? (･ω･)ﾉ


	4. Say Love, Say For Me Love

~*DEAN*~ 

“Dean!”

The businessman looks up from his computer to see Mr. Adler at the open door. Confusion bothers his tired mind.

“Mr. Adler,” Dean goes to stand. He plasters on a smile. Usually, they’re genuine, after all Mr. Adler is fairly decent boss and he needs to be on the guy’s good side in order to become a VP. “How’s it going?” he asks, tone friendly.

“Oh, no, please don’t get up on my behalf,” Mr. Adler gestures for Dean to keep sitting.

Dean sits back down in his desk chair. Mr. Adler takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of Dean’s desk, undoing the single button of his suit jacket in the process. Sensing a conversation on the way rather than a quick chat, Dean saves his work on the computer and puts in sleep mode.

Mr. Adler slaps his thighs, regaining Dean’s attention, “So, Dean. How have you been holding up?”

“Uh,” Dean’s mind goes blank, overtired, “I’m great, sir. Thank you.”

“I’ve noticed that you took last weekend off,” Mr. Adler says.

“I did,” Dean says and the first waves of agitation wash over him. _And I had a lovely night with your nephew, who, by the way, sucked my dick and stuck his tongue up my ass._ “I didn’t cause any problems, did I?” he asks, trying to sound concerned.

“No, no. Though the work load for Monday I hear was far more strenuous than it could have been if you had been here on at least Saturday,” Mr. Adler says.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you’re right, sir.”

“I’m always right when it comes to these things, Dean,” his boss says, tipping his chin up.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean sighs. Truth be told, although he loved every minute he spent with Cas, he did regret it in terms of work. Things had been tense at the office lately; the sales team had been practically _scrambling_ to get everything done well. Bela Talbot didn’t even try to look like she had wanted to help, her excuse being she was too busy with her own department. Dean can’t believe she still feels sore about him not kissing and ‘having fun’ with her at the New Years Eve party.

Mr. Adler makes a noncommittal sound, and then says, “Well, I can’t really blame you, Dean. You’re young and inexperienced compared to me and are entitled to make a few mistakes. Let me guess, you were out with a little lady?”

“Something like that,” Dean says evasively.

“If I were you, son, I’d keep the dates on hold for a while,” Mr. Adler advises.

“Yes, sir,” Dean says.

Mr. Adler stands. “Especially, if you want to be a VP. Which I know you have great potential for.”

Dean stands as well, putting his hand out over his workstation, “Thank you, Mr. Adler,” he says as he shakes his boss’ hand. “I’ll try to do better.”

“Good stuff, Dean,” Mr. Adler nods once before dropping Dean’s hand and exiting the director of sales and marketing’s office.

Dean sits down with a sigh, grabs a hold on the computer mouse and moves it from side to side. Gives it a few clicks. The screen pops up eventually. He slumps forward, and this posture is going to kill his back later in life, but… God, why does he feel so exhausted? Usually after a visit from his boss, Dean is pumped— ready to please, to improve. He’s just not feeling it today. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, he’ll be refreshed. Then for the whole of Saturday, will be working his butt off to get _ahead_ of schedule. Dean rolls his shoulders.

“Goodbye plans of seeing Cas,” he murmurs to himself and tries to brush off the disappointment.  
  


*  
  


Saturday morning Dean wakes up at six o’clock sharp, lets out a groan, rolls on to his stomach and falls back asleep. Rolls his hips, rubbing his groin into the memory foam mattress underneath him, dreaming of Cas.

Luckily for his job, at 6:16am, his mobile phone starts to ring.

Dean’s eyes snap open and he shoots up, limbs flailing wildly as he untangles himself from his bed sheets. When his feet hit the floor, he is remorseful of his dismissal of the idea of wearing socks because— _holy Jesus Christ_ — the tiles are freezing. It’s like he’s walking barefoot on fucking Antarctica.

Wincing as he walks, Dean enters the main room and turns on the lights. He’s just about to open the window blinds when his phone, on the desk by his small apartment-friendly gym station, begins to ring again. Dean picks it up and answers without reading the caller I.D.

“Good morning, this is Dean Smith,” he greets, voice gruff with sleepiness.

“ _Finally!”_ the voice of his little sister Jo comes through. Dean angles the phone away from his ear, brain pounding with how loud she had been.

“Jo,” Dean yawns, heading for his coffee machines, “how are you?”

“ _Did you just wake up, Grandpa?”_ Jo asks teasingly.

“It’s not that late,” Dean grouses. “What do you want, anyway, I’m getting ready for work and I need my morning coffee or I won’t function.”

Jo pauses for a beat. Then, slowly, she goes, “ _Dean…_ ” he can tell she’s hesitant, which is not like Jo at all, “ _Do you know what day it is?”_

Dean pulls out the rice milk from his fridge. “Yeah, it’s Saturday, blondie.”

“ _I know it’s Saturday, asshole! I’m talking about the date! Dean, today is your_ birthday, _January the twenty-fourth,_ ” Jo tells him, sounding exasperated.

Dean almost drops the rice milk container. “What?” he places it down gently by his coffee machine. “My birthday?”

“ _Yeah, Dean, your birthday, as in the date of your birth,_ ” Jo says.

“Well, shit,” Dean deadpans. Then he pulls a face. “Oh God! That means I’m thirty now.”

Jo laughs, “ _Yeah that’s right, the big three-oh_.”

“Ugh, I’m old,” Dean spits out distastefully, taking a seat, needing a moment. “A decade older.”

Jo makes a sympathetic noise. “ _Don’t be down, tough guy, just think about it like this— you’ve gotten this far without contracting any STD’s!”_

“Hey!” Dean exclaims indignantly, though it’s not without any heat, because damn she’s right and he’s goddamn lucky. Especially with his long list of sexual encounters, it should be considered a miracle.

Jo just cackles.

“Shut up,” he says, smiling good-naturedly.

“ _Happy birthday, Dean,_ ” she says.

“Thanks, Jo,” Dean replies, but suddenly, all of the amusement he’d gotten from their earlier banter has drained away. He feels like a wrung-out tea towel. “Hey, Jo?”

“ _Yeah?”_

Dean rests an arm on his kitchen counter. He exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever, I don’t know, feel…” he pauses, unsure of how to word what he’s feeling. “Feel exhausted for no reason?”

“ _What do you mean? Exhausted?”_ Jo questions, and Dean can hear the confused frown in her voice. At least she thankfully does not sound impatient. Probably because it’s his thirtieth and she feels pity for him.

“Like do you have thing where you don’t have the energy to move or even smile?” he asks, tentative.

Jo sighs on the other end. “ _Sometimes._ ”

“Do you know why?” he asks, grateful that she seems to understand what he’s going through. “I mean, I’ve never had it before and…”

“ _Now you do,_ ” Jo guesses.

“Yeah,” Dean says, going quiet.

“ _I think it’s pretty obvious, Dean, what’s wrong with your life,”_ Jo says, a little patronizingly, “ _It’s your job._ ”

To which Dean rolls his eyes, expecting the rant he has heard on several occasions from all of his family members.

“ _You work crazy hours, almost seven days a week, and you don’t even try to take a break from it._ ”

They don’t— can’t understand what it’s all about. “But, Jo, that’s just what it is,” he reasons, “I can’t help it! The hours are long, for sure, and sometimes I can’t deal with all of the work… But it’s rewarding. I get an awesome pay, great bonuses from time to time and there’s a routine and a team I can rely on.”

“ _Is that what they tell you, or what you tell yourself, Dean? And of course you get bonuses! You have a shit job and they want to make sure you stay put. I know you’re good at what you do, and they sure as hell know it too. You’re going to burn up,_ ” Jo argues.

“I won’t,” Dean denies, standing to pace.

“ _You will,_ ” she insists tenaciously.

Dean huffs out a breath, disbelieving. What would Jo know? She doesn’t have a desk job, doesn’t have that sense of loyalty and commitment to a workplace. Dean knows his limits and he’s been doing fine so far. It’s only when… Dean freezes his pacing. It’s only when Cas came into his life that all these work problems arose.

“ _Dean? Hello?”_ Jo asks.

“I gotta go, Jo, I’ll call you back, okay?” Dean says, half in a trance.

“ _Alright,_ ” she sounds suspicious, “ _I’ll get Mom and Dad to call you tonight._ ”

“Sounds good,” he replies. “Bye, Jo.”

“ _See you, Dean. Take care,”_ she says and then hangs up.

Dean stands in the middle of his apartment, a horrible thought having crossed his mind and making him feel uneasy. What if he _can’t_ cope with his job now that he’s got Cas? They did establish that they weren’t exactly boyfriends, since they were far too busy with their own lives— Dean with his job, Cas with his son. Already, and it’s not yet been a month since they’ve met, Dean is feeling the strain of balancing Cas and work. And in the end, what if he has to choose one?

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 Cas wakes with a sharp gasp for air, sitting up immediately, heart racing. He calms his breathing, tilting his head as he strains to listen. A barely audible noise disturbs the stillness of the night. When he is finally awake enough to recognize the sound, his heart clenches painfully.

Cas quickly blinks away the drowsiness as he pushes off the bed covers from his body, limbs lethargic. He slides out of his bed. A shudder runs through his body, craving the warmth he has left behind. Cas yawns widely, shuffling out of his bedroom. To navigate through the darkness, he lets his fingers trail along the walls. Cas paws for the door handle of his son’s bedroom. The metal is bitingly cold.

He opens it, slow, trying to be silent.

“M-Mummy?”

Cas cringes inwardly, then asks, keeping his voice as gentle as he possibly can, “Eugene, did you have a nightmare?”

Cas hears a sniffle then a soft, “Pa?”

He tries not to step on or stumble over Eugene’s toys that are no doubt spread over the floor, as treacherous as a minefield. Cas’ toes brush against something squishy. He looks down, eyes mostly adjusted to the darkness and sees Buzzer the bee: Eugene’s favourite plush toy. Cas bends to pick it up by the silken wings.

He reaches the single bed, noticing the twisted blankets and muddled pillows.

“Where’s Mummy?” his son whimpers, a tear-filled choking sob following the heart wrenching yet innocent question.

Cas sinks down on to the mattress with a sigh. “I’m here,” he whispers and rests his hand on Eugene’s trembling shoulder. He shushes him, shifting until his back hits the headrest and moving Eugene into his arms. Eugene wriggles uncomfortably, but is mostly pliant, chest heaving.

“I’m here,” Cas repeats, embracing the small boy. “It’s okay—”

“I want Mum!” Eugene demands, voice rising into a shout. “I want my Mummy. I don’t want _you_.”

Cas continues to hold Eugene even as he starts to become violent, smacking and punching his father wherever he can reach.

“I don’t want you. _I hate you_ ,” Eugene thrashes. “Mu-um!”

Inside his chest, his heart crumples in on itself, breaking. Cas understands that Eugene doesn’t mean it, won’t even remember this in the morning. But it doesn’t make it hurt less. After a minute, Eugene collapses with exhaustion.

“Papa,” he curls against Cas’ torso on his side, hiccupping. “ _Papa…_ ”

Cas rubs small circles on Eugene’s back, pajama shirt slightly damp with cold sweat. “Go to sleep, Eugene,” he whispers.

Cas lets his head fall back against the wall, emotions in turmoil.

He remembers a time when it would have been the boy’s mother, holding him close and chasing away the terrors of the nightmare. Cas allows his eyes to close, sluggish with weariness. He listens to Eugene’s plaintive sobs gradually disperse into wet snuffles. In surprisingly quick time, Eugene’s breathing evens out as he drifts to sleep.

Cas ducks his head, burying his nose in Eugene’s hair and kissing him atop of the head. He eases out from under Eugene. Carefully, so he will not disturb and accidentally shake Eugene awake. Grabbing hold of the duvet, he tucks Eugene in.

“Sweet dreams,” he mutters before he leaves, tenderly brushing off the dark tresses from Eugene’s forehead.

Cas groans when he crawls on to his double bed, an upcoming headache blossoming at his left temple. He burrows under the bed covers, trying to warm up, fingertips and toes feeling cold. Rolling on to his back, Cas dreads the restlessness that seeps into him. He cards his fingers through his hair, knowing but not caring that it will be in complete disarray in the morning. Unable to lie still in the hush of the early hours of the morning, with a soft moan, Cas lifts himself up and slinks out of bed.

He fishes around his desk till his fingers find the cool smoothness of his mobile. There’s this need to call his lover burning inside of him, totally disregarding the rational part of his brain. Cas creeps through the corridor, then down the stairs, bare feet almost going numb with the cold. Lounging across the sofa, Cas rubs warmth back into his thigh with his free hand. He fiddles with his phone and then suddenly he is calling Dean.

Cas brings his knees to his chest, one arm winding round the front of his legs. Waiting.

“ _Christ…_ ” is the first word Cas hears from Dean. Then, “ _What the fuck?”_

“Dean. It’s Castiel,” he murmurs, keeping his voice down so he won’t wake Eugene up.

“ _Yeah,_ ” a loud yawn comes through the call, “ _It’s two a.m, babe._ ”

“I-I know,” Cas feels guilt, thinking about how Dean will be working tomorrow, and how this will probably make him groggy for the entirety of the day. Even the tiniest disturbance in a night’s sleep can cause problems for the next day. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. I was tired and not thinking straight and you have work tomorrow. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“ _Cas._ ”

They are quiet for a long moment. Dean mumbles something incoherent and Cas listens wordlessly to the sounds of shifting bed sheets as soft exhales. Throat growing tight, Cas acknowledges the ache he has embedded deep in his stomach for closeness with Dean.

“ _Cas, is everything okay?”_ Dean asks, voice slurring a little. “ _Need somethin’?”_

“I…” Cas trails off, thoughts taking over. Perhaps it is because he misses having a partner within his life and the companionship that comes with it. He understands that it is not what Dean is looking for in their relationship, so he won’t pursue it till Dean lets it be known that he’s willing. Yet still, Cas aches for them to sleep together in the same bed.

“ _Babe? Are you all right?”_ Dean questions, gradually sounding more and more concerned.

“I’m fine. I wanted to talk to you, is all,” Cas says in a rush.

Dean snorts. “ _At four-in-the-cockadoodledoo-morning? Actually, scratch that, even fucking chickens aren’t awake now.”_

“Well,” Cas fights a grin, “We haven’t talked in a long time. I assume it is because of work?”

“ _… Yeah,”_ Dean is slow to reply. “ _Same shit as usual, y’know. Been busy. Um, so, what about you? How’s life?”_

Cas chews on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear this right now. Maybe we can talk another time?”

“ _No, no,_ ” Dean protests, “ _S’alright, I’ll stay awake for you. Just—”_ he breaks off with a yawn “— _sorry in advance if I do doze off. I’m listening, but. I swear it._ ”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says. “I appreciate this.”

Dean hums, nonchalant, “ _You’d do the same for me, man. We both know it. So,_ ” Dean clears his throat, “ _talk to me, love. What’s wrong?”_

“Well…” Cas says, throat tightening, “It’s about Eugene. He gets nightmares every so often.”

“ _Aw_ ,” Dean says, sympathetic. “ _So, I’m guessing he had one tonight, huh?”_

“Yes, he did, and it was just…” Cas swallows heavily, “I understand that children sometimes say things they don’t truly mean. Especially when they’re upset. But, tonight, he told me—” he breaks off with a choking sound, surprising even himself as tears begun to stream down his face.

“ _Oh, Cas.”_

Cas breathes out shakily, regaining some control over his emotions, and continues, “He told me he hated me.”

“ _Baby, you know that’s not true._ ”

Cas shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip. He stifles a sob. “I just want to be a good father and I’m afraid I fail every day. I mean, I see my computer more often then I see my own son. Even after five years with Eugene in my life, and April gone I can’t—” a lump forms in his throat.

“ _April?”_

“O-oh,” Cas sniffles. “Eugene’s mother.”

Dean makes a noise of understanding. “ _Ah. I see. Can you tell me what happened?”_

Cas didn’t answer immediately and Dean begun to apologize, but he quickly cut him off, “No, no, it’s fine. Um,” he wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I just needed a moment…”

“ _Cas, I didn’t mean to…I…_ ” Dean stammers, sounding genuinely contrite.

“April was— is— bipolar.”

Dean goes silent.

Cas draws in a deep breath. “It was difficult, but we were content, I suppose. We only married because of her unexpected pregnancy. She was kind and sweet most times, then would change and become extremely angry to the point where I was terrified of her.”

“ _Jesus, Cas. Did she have medication?”_ Dean asks.

“Initially, yes. But when Eugene arrived, then got older, things fell apart,” Cas says, “But her pride got in the way. She flushed her mood stabilizer pills down the toilet and told me that there was nothing wrong with her. Nothing I did seemed to make a difference… I let it go. April was never bad to Eugene. She loved him, very much. They were inseparable. Until—” he breaks off, remembering how his blood had turned instantly cold that day.

How the horror of what April had done had oozed in. His eyes were drawn to the porcelain shards and pink flower petals on the floor. The floor was also wet with water and speckles of red. Blood.

“Until,” Cas says again, trying to get it out, “she hurt Eugene. I don’t know what exactly he had done to anger her, but she snapped and had hit him on the back of the head with a vase,” he recounts, “It was pure luck that there was little physical damage done.”

“ _God, that’s… I don’t know what to say, Cas,_ ” Dean says, sounding flummoxed.

With his voice wavering, Cas reveals, “Eugene doesn’t know what happened, he doesn’t remember it.”

“ _I suppose that’s a good thing. Except I bet he wonders why she’s gone,_ ” his lover says. “ _She doesn’t see him anymore, does she?”_

“No,” Cas says, covering his eyes with a hand, feeling an almost tangible weight on his shoulders. “I won’t allow it. She sends him presents and such… It just causes more hurt, though. He doesn’t understand why she’s gone. And I can’t tell him. Not yet. I’m not that brave. And I don’t want him to know that someone, even his own mother, can hurt him.”

“ _I get that. I wasn’t told I was adopted till I was older, you know,”_ Dean says.“ _I was too angry at the time, but now I understand. No one wants to be the responsible for making kids lose that innocence they have._ ”

Cas’ chest tightens, overwhelmingly glad that Dean is being very understanding of his choices. Also, the fact that Dean is willing to just listen to him so early in the morning, despite the upcoming workday, makes Cas’ gratitude know no bounds.

“ _I’m not a parent, but I see the way your kid looks at you. Cas, he adores you._ ”

“I… Really? You think so?” Cas laughs wetly.

Dean chuckles. “ _You know, you’re so dense sometimes.”_

“Sorry,” Cas smiles wanly.

“ _Mm… Don’t worry. I like you anyway,_ ” Dean yawns again and Cas can hear the shuffle of sheets, and he imagines his lover burrowing under the duvet, hair sleep-ruffled and eyes sleepy.

“I miss you,” Cas admits in a quiet voice.

Dean hums. “ _Me too,_ ” he says and Cas can hear to smile in his voice. “ _Hey... uh… you wanna meet up soon? President’s Day’s coming up and I’m free, then._ ”

“Yes,” Cas replies eagerly. “How does dinner at my place sound?”

“ _Sounds like something to look forward to,_ ” Dean answers. _“I’m fallin’ back asleep. I better go._ ”

“Good night, Dean.”

“ _Night, Cas,_ ” his lover mumbles sleepily.

*

 “Pa, I’m cold,” Eugene whines, his boots making sloshing noises and trailing snow and mud behind him as he treks into the kitchen.

Cas almost slices off his finger with the potato peeler. For the past half hour, he has been preparing a dinner of roast chicken and vegetables. It is President’s Day, which, Cas and Dean have taken advantage of the public holiday and organized to share a meal at the Novak residence. After learning that there would be peas at said meal, Eugene has been misbehaving for the entirety of the day. Cas sent his son outside, hoping that some energy may be burned off while he romped. What he did not expect is the final result being Eugene head-to-toe soaking wet and muddy.

“EUGENE!” he all but screeches, dropping the half-peeled potato into the sink, “Oh my— What in the Lord’s name happened to you?”

Eugene sneeze, nose almost cherry red. “I was chasing a yeti,” he sniffles, “It got away.”

“Don’t move,” Cas quickly rinses his hands under lukewarm water and wipes, drying them off, on his white long-sleeved shirt.

“Why not?” Eugene complains, shivering, but obediently continues to stand in the murky-coloured puddle he has created. “I want a blankie.”

“Stay right there, please,” Cas bends, putting a hand to Eugene’s cheek, then his forehead. He is ice-cold to touch. “I don’t want anymore mess in the house. I’m going to get you a towel. Can you take your wet clothes off?”

Eugene blows a raspberry.

Cas straightens and turns, shaking his head in disbelief as hurries for the linen cupboard. When he returns, a fluffy white towel in hand, Eugene is stark naked. His soiled clothes are in a crumpled pile beside him. Crouching, Cas proceeds to rub the towel all over Eugene. There is a quiet _meow_ and soon, Spook slinks into view. She slumps to the ground beside Eugene’s clothes and her nose twitches. Spook rears her head, turns her head, those big yellow eyes on Cas and mews questioningly.

“Don’t you get all dirty too,” Cas warns her before returning his attention to Eugene. “We’ll get you in the bath and cleaned up before Dean—”

The doorbell chimes it’s cheery tune and both Cas and Eugene freeze at the noise.  
  


~*DEAN*~  
 

Dean wonders if it was a bad call, coming a little early to the date. He just couldn’t help himself. Humming a song that had been on the radio in the car on the way, Dean begins to pace leisurely.

For the past few weeks, his blue-eyed, dark-haired lover had been on his mind. The indecision of priorities was tearing him apart. On one hand, he had work, which meant stability. Then on the other hand there was Cas and Eugene’s family of two, which, Dean felt that he would easily be able to merge into.

The concept of someone to come home to was extremely appealing. Even though they were in the early stages of their blossoming relationship, Dean was having thoughts of _being together_ with Cas. Like, as in moving in. Of course, that wouldn’t be happening for a very long time.

Dean didn’t like to rush when it came to things he cared about. His respect and affection for Cas had doubled after their phone conversation at some ungodly hour. It was a big step, in that Dean learnt a lot about Cas.

He now could see why Cas was so dedicated to Eugene and even a little over-protective. Learning about April had certainly been an unforgettable discussion. The thought of Eugene being hurt filled him with disgust.

The kid was goddamn adorable! But then again, he could be being bias due to the fact Eugene was so alike to Cas.

Dean startles when an indignant shout comes from inside the house.

“I DON’T WANT A BATH!”

 _Speaking of the devil,_ Dean thinks wryly. He feels a stab of regret. Maybe it really was a bad time to be turning up. Dean checks his wristwatch and winces. _One hour early?_

Dean doesn’t think he’s been that early to any event in his entire life. And that includes all those important company conferences he has to attend. Hopefully, he doesn’t look like he’s way too eager to spend time with Cas and get into the gorgeous man’s pants. Dean wonders how they’ll manage that with a five-year-old on the loose.

Abruptly, the door swings open. Dean has to slap a hand over his mouth to prevent the bout of laughter that threatens to burst out. Cas is a wreck, the quintessential image of an exhausted and exasperated parent.

“H-Hey there, Cas,” Dean manages to greet, appalled at his own rudeness, but giggling all the same.

Cas huffs, cheeks going pink. “You can laugh. I know,” he looks down at his crumpled clothes underneath a lime-green and white polka dot apron. “I look like a disgruntled housewife.”

Dean loses it then, buckling forward with a bark of laughter. Cas takes it, expressionless but eyes glowing and letting Dean know that he too found the whole thing at least a tiny bit amusing.

“You look g-great,” Dean chuckles, “the apron really suits you.”

“Thank you,” Cas pats the apron, looking slightly flustered, “I think you would look better in it though, it would complement your eyes.”  
“Oh, yeah?” Dean arches a brow.

“Although if I were to make you wear it,” Cas leans in, voice dropping to a murmur, sending the good kind of shiver down Dean’s spine. “You’d be wearing nothing but it.”

Dean licks his lips. “Didn’t know you were into costumes.”

Cas tilts his head. “What if I was?”

“Well,” Dean’s hand wraps gently round Cas’ neck. “I’d wear anything for you…. Or nothing,” he adds with a salacious smirk.

Cas took the step that closed the distance between them, kissing Dean hard. Tension from his work routine, worries about their relationship and other mundane concerns are swept aside when Dean feels Cas’ lips against his. So soft, yet firm. Dean realizes rather quickly he’s been holding his breath, and he gasps as Cas’ lips move in tandem with his. He moans when Cas takes advantage of Dean’s parted lips, tongue delving in and clashing with his own. Cas’ stubble chafes against Dean’s smooth, if not a bit sensitive, recently shaved skin. Languidly, they kiss on the Novak residence’s threshold.

“PA! THE WATER IS TOO HOT!”

Dean releases a noise of complaint when their mouths separate, needing that closeness, needing to be that step closer for the release he’s been desiring for what feels like forever. Arousal shudders through him as Cas growls, pulling him in again and kissing him roughly. If Dean concentrates hard enough, the phantom of Cas’ tongue explores his most intimate parts, like that time at the hotel together. Dean flushes with heat, humming wantonly into Cas’ mouth. That had been paradise, he discerns, as a hollow chasm forms in his chest.

 _Why?_   Dean demands himself for an answer. _Why do I want this so desperately?_

“Come out of the cold,” Cas says, pressing their lips together again, once, twice and again. Dean’s head spins with the touches. God, it’s like he’s been starved of it.

“Shoes off, please,” Cas shuffles backward, pointing to Dean’s loafers. Then he pauses. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“Why’s that?” Dean questions.

“Oh,” Cas rubs the back of his neck. “Eugene was outside playing and apparently chasing a yeti, which got away.”

Dean has trouble fighting the urge to smile. “A yeti, huh?”

“Eugene was rather filthy afterward,” Cas sighs. “Lord knows how far his imagination went.”

“I’ll just avoid the aftermath of the yeti hunt then,” Dean says, toeing his leather shoes off.

Cas snorts. “Very well,” he says as he takes a hold of Dean’s hand and tugs him inside. He has to release him though, to close and lock the front door behind them. Dean has never been inside before and he takes it all in, committing the cozy-looking place to memory.

The living room is to his immediate left and the stairs to upstairs on his right. A plush tan-coloured lounge is placed in front of a television and a coffee table, which has a _Hot Wheels_ toy car atop of it. The colour of the couch reminds Dean of a certain trench coat that he distinctly remembers peeling off Cas’ shoulders on New Years Eve along with the rest of his clothing. A box of brightly painted wooden blocks is tucked to the side. It’s close to a fake fireplace that is similar to his own in his apartment.

“Please make yourself comfortable here, our home is your home,” Cas says, gracious, gesturing in a sweeping motion. “I would give you a tour, but—”

“PA-A-A-AH!”

Cas scurries up the stairs. “I’ll be back in just one moment,” he assures Dean, leaving him in the lounge room. The thumps of Cas’ feet pause, then suddenly, Dean hears his lover’s footsteps grow louder. Cas ducks to meet Dean’s eyes. “Will you please check the oven? There’s a dial you can turn down if the food appears to be turning into lumps of coal.”

“Sure thing,” Dean gives Cas a thumbs-up. “No coals.”

“Thank you,” Cas says before hurrying off again, taking the steps two at a time.

After hanging up his coat, Dean wanders into the kitchen, reveling in the warmth that ebbs from the oven. He breathes in deeply, smelling roast chicken and saliva builds up in his mouth. Bending his knees, Dean peers into the oven, assessing how things are cooking. It’s definitely done, so he adjusts the settings like Cas said to do. Straightening, he notices a pile of potatoes on the bench beside the sink. When he comes closer, he sees that there’s one half-peeled potato and three unpeeled ones. Dean rolls his sleeves up and picks up the vegetable peeler. Hands working efficiently, even automatically, Dean lets his thoughts stray.

Truth be told, the kiss was something he hadn’t expected to make such an impact on him. It had been so long since he’d last been in Cas’ presence. Dean thought that perhaps it would be kind of awkward. After all, their last conversation on the phone involved tears and bad memories from the past. But instead, it was like coming home. It hadn’t been a second into their date when Cas already was making Dean laugh and be pulsing with desire.

Dean had wondered if things would go belly-up, if this get-together would be their last one.

But it seems unlikely now and he feels silly for even thinking it. Working around each other’s schedules and lives would always be a challenge. They both knew that. Dean’s movements falter. It didn’t mean that it wouldn’t hurt or that they wouldn’t be having doubts.

With a sigh, Dean keeps peeling. The thing is, he just has so many thoughts and feelings concerning Cas and how the man fits into his life. There were too many opposing views, decisions and ideas. The only thing he was so damn sure of was that he really did want to be with Cas. No matter what.

Dean freezes. “Oh, shit,” he murmurs under his breath.

He risks a glance down and _holy fucking Jesus Christ no_ , there is the cat: a ball of black silken fur and downright creepy circular yellow eyes.

“Get away, demon,” Dean tells it, making a shooing motion with his hand.

This only seems to encourage the cat to slink forwards, back arched, tail upright. Dean puts down everything in his hands and searches his pockets for the tiny sheet of allergy pills he had remembered to consume and bring along at the last second.

“I’ve come prepared, bitch,” he says, triumphant. “You won’t best Dean fucking Smith.”

Dean _does not_ whimper when the cat tilts its head at him, like it’s trying to say, _oh really?_ The black cat steals forward, now inches away from Dean’s leg. His breath hitches, imaging those talons to sink into his flesh and rip him to pieces.

“Bring it on fur ball,” he whispers.

The cat begins to rub its head against his pant leg, pawing at his sock-clad foot. Dean squeaks, his courage flying out the window and he makes a break for it. The table in the centre of the kitchen is all that separates him and the yellow-eyed demon.

He really should have thought this through.

The cat darts forward, going under the table and to the other side where Dean stands, petrified.

“Oh God,” Dean gulps, backed into a wall.

“Don’t you like cats?” a disembodied voice asks him.

“ _Christ!”_ Dean jumps about a foot off the ground.

Eugene Novak giggles. The five-year-old is fresh out of the bathtub it would seem, hair wet and cheeks flushed. A few wet patches on his clothes. He has a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

“Are you scared of cats?”

“No!” Dean says quickly, indignant.

“Spook is a good kitty,” Eugene says. “She won’t hurt you. She likes to be petted on the head and the belly. Don’t pull her tail,” he rattles off.

“Okay, I’ll try to remember that,” Dean says. His eye catches sight of what is printed on Cas’ son’s top. “Hey… I like your shirt, Gene.”

Eugene pulls the corners of the towel away from his torso, looking down at the _Batman_ symbol on his cotton long-sleeve tee.

“Do you like Batman too?” Eugene throws himself forward in excitement, towel falling to the ground. He grabs a fistful of Dean’s pant. “Do you really?”

Dean takes a moment to reply, taken aback by Eugene’s enthusiastic reaction. “Of course. I was a big fan when I was about your age.”

“My age,” Eugene repeats, eyes narrowing, seemingly skeptical that Dean could have been his age once.

“Heck yeah!” Dean says. “I had action men and cards. I used to watch TV shows about it and read the comics.”

“Really?” Eugene gasps. “That’s awesome!”

“I know right,” Dean grins. “My sister and I used to pretend we were Batman and Catwoman. Sometimes she would be Robin too, she was quite the tomboy.”

“I don’t have a sister to play with,” Eugene says, worrying his bottom lip with his front teeth.

Dean shifts, not knowing what to say to that. “So, uh, do you watch Batman cartoons?”

“Yes! I didn’t watch the real people movies because Pa says he thinks it looks too scary, so I said it was okay. You know, I want to be Batman when I grow up. Want to know why?”  
“Spill,” Dean says.

Eugene bounces as he tells Dean, “Because Batman doesn’t have superpowers like me! He figured out how to save people even though he’s got no special powers.”

“I…” Dean trails off, not expecting what Eugene had said.

“Eugene?” Cas calls, padding into the kitchen. “Pick up your towel, please. Put it back in the bathroom too.”

“Okay,” Eugene scoops up the towel, wraps it round his shoulders and bolts past his father. It billows behind him like a cape. “Come on Spook!”

The cat blinks, turns its head to look at Dean one last time and then dashes forward as it follows Eugene. Cas shakes his head, beautiful blue eyes fond as they watch Eugene disappear up the stairs.

“I hope he wasn’t bothering you too much,” Cas says. “Oh, and are you alright?”

“Huh?” Dean asks eloquently.

“Your allergy,” Cas states, a concerned wrinkle forming at his brow. “I cleaned the house before you came but couldn’t manage to find anyone to look after Spook.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Dean insists as he pushes himself off the wall, “I don’t want to be too much trouble.”

“You are worth the trouble,” Cas remarks.

Stunned, Dean can’t look away. His lover stares back evenly, expression calm and collected. Lips stretching into a small smile, apparently either amused or affectionate. Cas is positively striking, even though he looks thoroughly ruffled. Their eyes lock, the world falls away and time just halts.

If eyes are windows to the soul, then Dean imagines Cas in spirit to be like the oceans of faraway tropical paradises. Blue and bright in colour with a disposition so peaceful at one moment then passionate and wild the next.

 _Oh, somebody help me,_ Dean thinks to himself, resigned. _I’m in love._

~*CASTIEL*~

 

“This is really great, Cas,” Dean says as he forks a strip of chicken into his mouth. Cas was glad and deeply relieved to see that Dean approves of the meal and is willing to eat it despite his carefully watched diet and weight.

“Thank you,” Cas says. He straightens his back and his chest puffs out with self-pride.

“Peas are gross,” Eugene sulks and uses his special hard plastic set of utensils to stab at the peas. The five year old glares at the pile of vegetables like they offend him in some way.

“I agree,” Dean states, surprising both Novak’s. Cas wonders if he should have taken Dean aside before the dinner and explained how he was working on Eugene’s dislike of green foods.

“But if you eat some then I will too,” the green-eyed man continues. “How ‘bout it, Gene?”

Bright blue eyes widening, Eugene looks at Dean like he has sprouted another head. “I’m not gonna eat it!”

“Why not?” Dean says with a spark of amusement in his eyes. “You chicken?” he waves a piece of the white meat in Eugene’s direction.

He bites it off his fork. Cas cocks his head to the side and catches Dean’s eye. Dean subtly winks at him. Narrowing his eyes but not moving to intervene, Cas takes a sip of his water.

“Well…” Eugene looks uncertain and shifts on his pillow on the chair. “No.”

Cas watches Dean chew and then swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, wondering what his lover hopes to achieve. Dean picks up his spoon and scoops a few peas on to it.

“We’ll do it at the same time, then?” Dean suggests.

Eugene considers if for a moment. “Pa?” his eyes are imploring. “If you do it too?”

Cas seizes the opportunity and spoon, gathering a substantial amount of the little green spheres. He lifts it and its hovers near his lips. Dean’s eyes sparkle and Cas can see he is trying hard not to smirk. Astonishing enough, Eugene follows their example.

“On the count of three?” Dean asks.

“I wanna say it,” Eugene says.

“When you’re ready,” Cas encourages.

Eugene takes a deep breath. “One… Two… Three!”

The three of them wrap their mouths around their respective spoons. Eugene’s nose crinkles. As Cas chews, he tenses, readying for the inevitable result of Eugene spitting out green mush. Then he startles as Dean makes a loud and theatrical noise of disgust. Cas turns his head and has to put his hand over his mouth once he sees the over-exaggerated face of pure revulsion Dean is pulling. Eugene swallows and then laughs. Cas almost chokes in shock as it hits him that what Dean had done actually worked.

“Oh yeah,” Dean mock-rasps. “Gene, you did _way_ better than I did.”

Eugene gives Dean a shy smile before ducking his head, eyes on his plate in front of him. Cas and Dean share a look with matching expressions of amusement and full of warmth.

There’s something different about Dean tonight.

Cas is fully aware that he is nowhere near close to knowing Dean inside and out. He knows what the man likes during sex: to be pinned down or taken from behind. Regardless of the solidity and broadness of the other man’s physique and confidence and stubbornness in his personality— Cas relished and lusted over the fact Dean trusted his body wholly to him in that aspect of their relationship.

Cas pushes those thoughts aside and returns to reality.

“With the blocks we made a huge castle! It had a moat too and we pretended that it had water and crocodiles,” Eugene animatedly talks about a day at the care centre.

Dean grins. “Awesome. Were these crocodiles particularly bloodthirsty?”

“Yeah! Really, really,” Eugene says. “There were also big towers and a bridge and a room for the treasure.”

Dean nods approvingly as he munches on carrot pieces. Afterward, he remarks, “A security system. Good plan.”

Eugene beams.

With a smile, Cas decides that what’s changed in Dean. Instead of the charming brashness and seductive smile that Cas was initially attracted to— there is a genuine gentleness in Dean. Cas was grateful and liked how Dean had made an effort to help in the preparations for the meal and truly listened to Eugene with strong attentiveness. Dean doesn’t seem to be troubled by it at all. In fact, he looks to be enjoying it and drinking it all up with a thirst that Cas hadn’t known been there. The events of tonight so far had confirmed that Dean really has an interest in Cas and not only in the heated, sexual encounters.

“Cas? Hey, buddy, come back to Earth,” Dean waves his hand in front of his face.

Cas blinks. “Oh!” he feels heat staining his cheeks. “Sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“That's clear,” Dean snorts. He overlooks the table. “Everyone done?”

“Yeah,” Eugene pushes his plate forward and slips down from his chair.

Cas nods. “Yes,” he stands. “I’ll wash up the dishes. It won’t take too long, hopefully.”

“I’ll help,” Dean offers as he also gets to his feet. As Cas is collecting the tableware, Dean walks past behind him and gives his ass a playful and firm squeeze. Cas’ breath hitches and he feels himself already hardening in his jeans. He curses his quick reaction.

“Dean!”

“What?” Dean’s eyes go round: the image of innocence.

Cas squints at him before moving to go back to cleaning up. “Don’t test me.”

When he spies Dean’s overly pleased and smug expression, Cas reflects that what he had said perhaps only goaded his lover. He breathes in slowly in order to calm his libido. It had been a while since he’d last been with Dean and the hurried masturbation sessions in the shower were not quite cutting it. Cas is piling the plates into the sink when Dean comes up behind him. His gut clenches when Dean places his hand on his hip and then trails it downward.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, arching into the touch. His heart stutters when Dean kisses him on the side of the neck. Dean cups him through his jeans and Cas is barely holding it together as his lover rubs him, firm and unyielding.

“Dean, wait,” he says breathlessly. “I have to put Eugene to bed…” Cas moans softly when Dean rolls his hips into him.

“I’d rather you put me into bed,” Dean whispers, lips on Cas’ ear.

Cas cranes his neck, turning his head to face Dean. He parts his lips in a silent invitation for a kiss. Dean skims his tongue over his plump lips and inclines his head forward. They kiss languidly, lips moving in tandem. Releasing a low moan, Cas shifts in Dean’s arms and his hand comes up to cup his lover’s face. Under his caressing thumb, Dean’s clean-shaven cheek feels smooth and warm.

“Pa!?” Eugene calls from inside the living room, making them both startle away from each other. “Can we watch _Wizard of Oz_?”

Cas clears his throat, and then says back, “No. Go brush your teeth! You already watched the movie once today, remember?”

“UGH! Okay,” Eugene acquiesces, though begrudgingly.

Cas glances at Dean’s bemused expression and explains, “He’s going through a phase… Charlie brought that movie with her when she was babysitting for us and Eugene fell in love with it.”

  
“Oh, really?” Dean chuckles. “I kinda pegged Gene as one of those kids who loves superhero versus evil villain stuff.”

“He is,” Cas says, turning back to the sink and twisting the hot water tap on. Water gushes into the basin. “But I guess he sees this an exception. I’m just glad that he’s open to different things.”

Dean reaches for the tea towel on the counter, nodding, expression thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s true. Hey, do you think it’s alright with us… you know… with him around?”

Cas pauses in grabbing the sponge. “There’s nothing wrong about us being together,” he says and begins to scour a dirty plate. “One of the joys of being a parent is deciding what you want your child to be exposed to. He doesn’t seem bothered, so I think it’s fine.”

“Okay, cool,” Dean says and visibly exhales.

Noticing this, Cas sends a small smile in Dean’s direction. “Were you worried?”

“A bit,” Dean admits. “I just don’t want to put you in the position where one day Gene asks out of the blue ‘Why do I have two daddies?’ and make it real awkward…”

Cas’ eyes widen in shock.

“Uh— I mean—” Dean flusters, quickly turning bright red. “What I meant to say was, that, you know…” the brunette hides his face with his hands and the tea towel, groaning.

Warmth blooms in Cas’ chest and not even the Lord could stop how his lips stretch into a wide grin and how fast his heart beats at the mere idea of the two of them being ‘daddies’. It is a sweet notion, one that makes Cas wish he had met Dean earlier in his lifetime. But then, he supposes, Eugene would not have been born, which is something that he would never wish for.

“Just forget that whole conversation, please,” Dean says, peeking at Cas through his fingers.

“I’ll try,” Cas replies.

He cocks his head in a come-hither gesture and Dean warily steps forward. Once his lover is in reach, Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s lips, channeling every ounce of affection he has for him through it. A shiver climbs up Cas’ spine at hearing the surprised, yet satisfied sound escape from Dean’s mouth. How are they going to manage not making too much noise once Eugene is asleep upstairs in his bedroom?

*  
  


Once Cas comes down the stairs, announcing that Eugene has fallen asleep, Dean rams into him and they tumble into the laundry without the slightest bit of finesse.

Heat buzzes pleasantly in Cas’ gut. Their lips still connected, his hands grip Dean’s hips and guide him further into the small room. Cas’ stomach swoops when Dean moans lewdly into the kiss. Cas delves his tongue past Dean’s plump lips and into the wet warmth of his mouth. Their tongues collide and their teeth clash with the ferocity of their passion. Cas breaks away, fumbling for the light switch and then closing the door.

 _Just in case_ , he thinks just before Dean grabs hold of his shoulder and spins him round so that they’re facing each other.

Cas grows warm at Dean’s debauched appearance. Clothes rumpled and hair in disarray, with his freckled cheeks pink with a flush. In awe of how gorgeous Dean looks, no matter the circumstance, Cas is not entirely prepared for when his lover’s body slams into his. They hit the door with a thump. Cas’ head spins as Dean’s mouth latches on to his neck. He whimpers and his hips buck forward. Cas grabs Dean’s ass possessively.

The heady feel of Dean’s talented tongue and lightly scraping teeth is almost too much. His cock fills and strains in his pants. Cas hisses as Dean cups him and presses the heel of his palm down. Dean rocks into his thigh and Cas growls low in his throat.

“Dean,” he says, voice barely a whisper as he tugs at the other man’s collar.

At Cas’ pull, Dean presses one final kiss to his neck and straightens. While he unbuttons his shirt, there is no hesitation in his quick movements. Cas’ hands wander Dean’s bare torso feverishly. His thumb flicks over a nipple and in return, he gains a broken and breathless groan. Dean’s cool hands find their way past the hem of Cas’ shirt, causing him to suck in a surprised gasp.

“I need you naked, Cas,” Dean pleas breathlessly.

Cas nods and lifts his arms.

Eagerly, Dean strips him of his shirt and it is then carelessly dropped to the floor. The chilly air makes goosebumps rise up on Cas’ skin. He flounders when without preamble; Dean ducks his head to mouth at one of Cas’ nipples. The back of his head smacks against the door and he slaps a hand over his own mouth to stifle a cry of pleasure. Dean hums a pleased note as his tongue flicks against the bud, grazing his teeth against the sensitive flesh. Stomach rising and falling with harsh breaths, Cas closes his eyes and loses himself in the feeling of Dean’s mouth on him.

Dean stops his torturous, yet wonderful ministrations and Cas casts his eyes down only to see Dean descending to his knees. His stomach somersaults in anticipation. Their eyes meet as Dean reaches eye-height of his tented pants. Cas holds the heated gaze, while Dean’s fingers unzip his fly. His dick stands out proud, hard and leaking pre-cum once his pants and underwear are pulled down and pushed aside. Dean palms himself through his jeans, expression unabashedly wanton as he leans forward and closes his lips round the head of Cas’ cock.

“Yes, _Dean._ Oh god—!” he chokes, hips rocking forward. Dean’s tongue swipes over his slit. Cas’ knees buckle. One of his hands twist roughly into Dean’s hair and the other shoots out to grip something.

“Shit!” Cas curses between clenched teeth when his hand strikes the laundry basket. It hits the ground, spilling bed sheets and towels over the ground. With an obscene, slick noise, his cock slips from the velvety wetness of Dean’s mouth.

Cas feels a hand cover his left foot and another rests at the back of his thigh. Steadying.

“You okay?” Dean questions.

“I’m fine,” Cas reassures him, carding his fingers through Dean’s short brown strands of hair.

Dean snorts and shakes his head. “Klutz.”

Heat blossoms in Cas’ cheeks. “Sorry,” he says with a half-shrug. “But it was really your fault, technically.”

“Oh, shush. You literally just can’t stand the things I do to you,” Dean teases and pinches the skin of his thighs.

“Stop that,” Cas admonishes without any real anger. He tips Dean’s head so he is craning to look up at him. “I suppose…” he trails his fingertips over the other man’s features. “I’ll just have to come and join you down there and punish you.”

Dean visibly shudders and arches a brow. “Punish me, huh?”

“You’ll have to be quiet too,” Cas tells him, voice gaining a low, growling timbre. He brushes his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone. “Can you do that for me?”

Lightly chewing his bottom lip, Dean nods silently. He looks over his shoulder. Moving away from Cas’ feather-light touches, Dean slides himself backward. He pushes the washing basket out of the way and settles himself down on the small mounds of laundry. Dean extends his denim-clad legs out in front of him and his hands go out behind him, propping himself up. Cas’ chest tightens at the sight of the bulge at his groin.

Dean’s green eyes whisper, _come hither._

Cas kneels on some towels, hands gliding over his lover’s legs. The rough feeling of the denim is less satisfying as skin. He shuffles closer, and his fingers wrap round the hem of Dean’s jeans. When he yanks them down, Dean’s mouth falls open and a groan escapes him. With one hand on Dean’s chest, Cas shoves his lover flat on his back. He lowers his body to cover Dean. Grinding his hard cock against Dean’s, Cas gently grips the side of his neck.

“What did I say about noise, Dean?” he asks, hips rolling and showing his lover no mercy as their dicks rub together.

The hold of Dean’s hands at Cas’ sides tightens. A wave of heat surges through him when his lover’s blunt nails sink into him.

“T-To not make any,” Dean replies, sounding wrecked.

“That’s right,” Cas says, struggling to keep his voice even. He plants his hands at both sides of Dean’s head, grabbing fistfuls of the laundry he’ll no doubt have to re-do. His control is slipping from his fingers. “Do you think you can do that, baby? Or do you need a gag to keep those pretty noises from being heard?”

“No,” Dean’s voice shakes. “No I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Cas tilts his head and begins to suck a mark at the conjuncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder. Dean’s head falls back with a gasp and his legs wrap around Cas, increasing the pressure on their cocks.

“Y-yes, I’m sure,” Dean insists, pitch heightening and his hips frantically buck up to meet Cas’ thrusts. “I’ll be quiet, I promise— oh! Oh, God. _Cas_ —”

Cas kisses him to silence the desperate, lust-crazed words. He closes his eyes and moves his lips with Dean’s in tandem. Their sweaty bodies rock together, finding rhythm and friction. Cas moans as Dean rakes his nails down his back. Leaning on his elbows, Cas cups Dean’s face and deepens the kiss. He trembles with want. Dean whimpers, hands scrambling and body squirming. When they break off the kiss, Cas sits upright, panting.

“Dean,” he says hoarsely. He bends, kissing at Dean’s jaw, moaning against his skin, “I want to come inside you.”

Dean curses. His back arches and he cries out softly when Cas closes a hand around their cocks. “ _Yes_ — Just do it—!”

“One moment,” Cas kisses Dean, sweet and firm. “Don’t touch yourself,” he instructs before reluctantly leaving his lover, writhing, on the pile of laundry.

“Ca-a-as,” Dean whines. His hands clench and his body trembles.

Cas hurries as he rummages through one of the cupboards, his skin on fire, cock curled and with pre-cum profusely dribbling out. On the ground, Dean whimpers. The search for his stash of condoms and lubricant becomes frantic. Once he does find them, he tucks the bottle under his arm and gets to work on opening one of the square packets. Cas kneels between Dean’s spread legs. His eyes devour the site of his lover, lying in front of him, dick fully erect.

“Why do you keep that kind of stuff in your laundry, Cas?” Dean smirks.

Cas shrugs. “Reasons.”

“Well you’ve got reason now. Come on, Cas,” Dean sensually rolls his hips.

Cas squirts a generous amount of gel into his hand before setting the bottle down beside them. One after the other, Cas eases three fingers into Dean. Despite his delirious mutterings, Dean manages to help Cas in sliding on the condom.

“I’m ready for it,” Dean announces, hands curving round Cas’ waist.

Squeezing so tight that Cas is sure that there’ll be bruises. Cas guides himself into Dean, sliding in, muscles clenching and toes curling. Dean around him feels just as good as it did that night on New Years Eve. Cas grips Dean’s thighs and rocks his hips back and forth, panting, trying with every ounce of willpower his has to not just _moan_ with pleasure. His hands move to Dean’s knees, spreading him wider. Sinking further in, he bites down hard on his lip.

“That’s it, Dean,” he groans softly. “So good—”

“C-Cas!” Dean gasps, “Gonna— come— _fuck!_ ”

“Then come,” Cas growls, wrapping his hand round the girth of Dean’s hardened length and teasingly dragging his hand over it a pumping motion. Dean’s eyes roll back into his head, body growing extremely taut. His mouth drops open in a silent scream as he coats his stomach white. Cas uses Dean’s sides as leverage and his thrusts turn animalistic. When he comes moments later, his mind and body go numb and he spirals into darkness.

“Cas… babe,” Dean’s voice pulls Cas back to consciousness.

Cas hums, blinking sluggishly. He is lying atop of Dean, their bodies flush and sticky. Despite this, Dean’s arms are around him. He pets Cas’ hair and murmurs softly.

“You alright?”

Cas nods and shifts, only to realize that he’s still fully immersed in Dean. They both wince. He slowly pulls out then flops on to his back next to Dean with a grunt. Dean moves on to his side and kisses Cas’ shoulder. Cas looks at him, and as he stares, Dean suddenly and inexplicably turns shy. He moves his thumb to trace over those spit-slicked, ample lips.

“Shower?” Cas asks.

Dean just nods, not meeting Cas’ eyes.

Cas swallows hard. “Stay the night, as well?”

Dean’s head snaps up, eyes round and shocked and hopeful. “If you want me to,” he says, “then, yes.”  
  


~*DEAN*~  
 

“ _This thing,_ ” Dean sings along to the car radio under his breath, “ _called love. I just can’t handle it. This thing called love, I must get round to it._ ”

He drives down the now-familiar streets of Cas’ neighborhood, smiling like a fool. Tonight he has a date. It had been a few weeks since their last get-together. Although it pained Dean to leave the following morning, Cas had promised to stay in touch. And he sure kept his promises. Dean was often texting under the cover of his desk in his office, or even in corporate meetings.

The businessman was now an expert of dodging questions and supply plausible excuses for every time his co-workers or Mr. Adler questioned him about how he was practically glued to his phone. The bill was going to be phenomenal, but Dean did not even care. Not when his boyfriend was regularly sending him the cutest (or most inappropriate) messages prettied by emoticons.

“ _He drives me crazy,_ ” Dean croons along with Freddie Mercury when his phone pings with a text message. He switches off the radio. Even though Dean is against people using their phones while driving, he takes a quick peep. It’s Charlie, the intern-slash-babysitter.

 _Running late! Sorry :(_ _  
_

Dean shrugs, nonchalant.

He quickly types, _Its OK_ , before tossing his phone on to the passenger seat. Dean combs his fingers through his hair and checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looks… happy. Dean’s eyes go back to the road. He can’t remember the last time he had felt this genuinely content. Slightly changing his priorities from work to Castiel Novak was the best decision ever.

Dean steers round the corner, on to Cas’ street. He slams his foot down on the brake pedal at the sight of bright-red fire trucks directly in front of him. His eyes widen.

“Oh God,” Dean’s voice trembles. His heart stops, his blood runs cold. “No, no. Oh, my God. _Cas_.”

He unbuckles himself, bursting from his still-running car. Dean tears down the street, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Black plumes of smoke are rising from Cas’ house.

 

 

 


	5. Lost In The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait!!!

~*DEAN*~

 

 _This can’t be happening;_ Dean thinks as he runs towards the Novak’s house.

Heart wild, breathing shaky, vision spotty. He knows he is just one second away from a fully-fledged panic attack. Thick smoke obscures his view and he’s unable to see how serious the damage is. But he can clearly hear the crackling and groaning of wood as the fire devours it. He can taste the ash in the air.

“’Scuse me!” Dean pushes past a cluster of concerned and curious neighbors.

He gasps upon closer inspection of Cas’ home. It is quickly becoming unstable. Wide-eyed, he stares at the blaze-covered building. Nausea ensnares him as he thinks about upstairs, where the bedrooms and study are. _What if’s_ almost cause his knees to give way. 

“Sir! Please stand back!” a firefighter grasps Dean’s shoulder.

Dean snaps out of his state of shock. The firefighter continues to push Dean further away from the inferno. Dean seizes the other man’s forearm, eyes pleading.

“Please,” he struggles to get the words out, his throat tight. “Tell me— did anyone—? My boyfriend and his son live here—”

Realization dawns in the firefighter’s eyes. Dean swallows hard, preparing for the worse. He trembles with suspense as the firefighter adjusts his breathing apparatus, pushing it away from his mouth.

“Sir, we only just arrived on site a few minutes ago. Neighbours called it in,” he says.

Dean frowns. “The neighbours? Not…” he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Not Cas?”

“Yes, sir,” the firefighter continues, “The neighbours. Listen, there’s a team in there, but no one’s out yet. We’ve been trying to put out the fire but— no luck. The main thing we’re trying to do is keep it from spreading to other houses…”

Fear chokes Dean. “N-No one’s gotten out yet?”

“No, but—”

At that moment, bursting from what’s left of the front door is a firefighter with Cas’ limp body draped over his shoulder.

“Cas!” Dean cries out, hope swelling in his chest.

Paramedics swoop in; they lay Cas out on to a gurney and place an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

Dean’s heart clenches as he sees Cas convulsing, coughing from the smoke inhalation. The paramedics assess Cas, shouting back and forth at each other, using medical jargon. His smoldering clothing is carefully removed, till he’s left shirtless. Dean covers his mouth at the sight of red and inflamed burns that mark Cas’ skin. He flinches when Cas lets out a pained yelp, a groan following it.

Unable to stay out of the way any longer, Dean rushes toward Cas.

A female paramedic holds up a blue-gloved hand at him, making him skid to a stop.

“I’m his boyfriend,” Dean quickly explains. “Can I please...?” his hands itch to touch Cas. To comfort him, to make sure he’s going to be okay.

“Just be mindful of his burns,” the woman warns him. “We’ll be leaving for the hospital soon.”

Nodding, Dean sidles beside the gurney.

Cas blinks up at him, eyes red-rimmed, bloodshot and puffy. Glistening with tears. It tortures Dean to see his lover like this, so afraid and in pain. He even allows his own tears to fall, unashamed of how grateful he is. Each breath Cas takes, though dry and scratchy sounding— is beautiful. The world narrows down to just the two of them. Dean cradles Cas’ face with his hand, as gentle as possible.

“Hey, Cas,” his smile is wane and tremulous.

The tremendous sound of the house caving in breaks the spell. Then, all of a sudden, Cas is surging upwards. Despite his hacking coughs, Cas attempts to yank the oxygen mask off of his face. Dean shouts wordlessly in surprise and panic. The paramedics go crazy.

“Sir! Wait—!”

“Lie down, please!”

Cas batters them away, arms flailing, legs kicking. Hands on his lover’s bare shoulders, Dean tries to stop Cas from doing— whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Cas! Baby, calm down!”

Cas turns, hands wrapping around Dean’s upper arms in an unrelenting vice-like grip. “Dean—” he says, hoarse and breathless. As Cas dry-heaves, his fingernails dig painfully into Dean.

“I’m here, Cas,” Dean reassures him.

“E-Eugene,” Cas chokes out, eyes crazed. “ _Eugene._ ”

Dean and Cas stare at each other with matching expressions of horror. The paramedics force them apart.

“N-no!” Cas rasps, coughing hard. “W-wait!”

Dean falls to the ground, while three people fight to restrain and sedate Cas.

“Gene,” Dean’s fingers curl against the cold ground. His stomach churns.

_No. No he can’t be gone._

Dean rises to his feet. He dusts himself off and looks left and right, for any sign of that little boy with a mop of messy black hair and vivid blue eyes, just like his Papa. Dean sprints toward a trio of firefighters.

“Hey!” he calls out. “Did you find anyone else in there?”

The firefighters glance at each other, saying nothing, and they don’t need to. Dean chokes on a sob and tears spring to his eyes. He grabs the closest firefighter by the front of their uniform.

“Tell me you found a kid in there!” Dean shakes them. “Tell me he’s not—”

“Let go,” the firefighter holds on to his arm. “We didn’t find anyone else.”

Before Dean realizes it, he has fallen to his knees. He buries his hands in his hair, tugging at the short strands. How could this have happened? So quickly, too. What is he supposed to do now?

Something brushes against his leg and Dean startles, head snapping to face whatever it was that touched him.

Spook lets out a short, soft mew and proceeds to rub her head against him. Evidently glad to see him? Dean never had a cat before, for obvious reasons, and when he put his hand out, it has hesitant. Spook sniffed his fingers, whiskers quivering. The she forces her head into the cup of his palm, and Dean feels his heart melt.

“Hey,” one of the firefighters crouches to Dean’s level. “Name’s Benny,” he introduces himself, accent distinctly Cajun.

“Dean Smith,” Dean replies shakily, scratching behind Spook’s ears lightly.

“And how are you related to the owner?” Benny questions.

“I’m his boyfriend,” Dean explains.

“Well,” Benny grunts as he moves to sit cross-legged in front of Dean. “The house is done for, but you can see that.”

Dean nods, glancing at the fiery husk that remains of the Novak household. Benny puts a gloved hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeeze comfortingly.  

“Also, I think it’d be best if we get the cops on to this,” the firefighter says, light blue eyes darkening.

Dean stares at Benny. “Why?” he asks sharply, voice hoarse.

“When the boys found your boyfriend in there, he was trussed up and barely conscious.”

Dean gapes. _What the hell?_  

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

Cas slowly regains consciousness.

Voices murmur softly from beyond the pastel green curtain that wards off the rest of the world. Medical equipment flanks him. He realizes with a jolt that he is in a hospital. Confusion plagues his mind. The tubes and wires that surround him don’t ease him. He swallows hard, only to choke and cough by the tube that has been placed down his throat. The curtain is flung open and a nurse hurries to his side.

Suddenly he remembers the fire.

He remembers Eugene.

Tears prick his eyes and his fight for breath doubles in difficulty. Cas’ hands grapple at his throat as his body attempts to curl in on itself. The nurse is telling him to relax, but he can’t. How could he? Not after everything that had happened. His son is gone. Eugene has been taken away from Cas— but not by the fire. That is no doubt what everyone believes… Would anyone believe Cas if he told them? Or would they chalk it up to grief and shock? That Eugene was not dead, but _taken by someone._

 

_EARLIER_

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Cas’ eyes rove over his reflection. He is currently wearing a plain white button-up and black tie. Tonight he has a date with Dean and the thought alone causes butterflies to take flight in his stomach. Cas sweeps a hand through his dark hair, taming it back. He chews lightly on his bottom lip, thoughts abuzz with all the arrangements that have been made.

Charlie would be arriving soon to look after Eugene till late. She told him that she would be happy to stay overnight, if he and Dean wanted that. Cas is tempted, and will make the decision later on with Dean and then text Charlie a confirmation. Cas is glad to have the young redheaded woman, who has so far been a worthy replacement of Meg.

“Pa,” Eugene wanders into the bathroom, holding his plush toy, Buzzer, by the antenna.

“Yes?” Cas glances over his shoulder, adjusting the knot of his tie.

“Is Dean here?” his son asks.

“Not yet,” Cas replies.

Eugene squints. “Charlie?”

“She’s coming,” Cas says, tongue skimming over his dry lips. He looks at Eugene in the mirror. His son’s focus is on something outside of the bathroom, his head tilted. His lips form a pout of confusion.

“Oh,” is all the five-year-old says before pattering away, his silky pitch-black _Batman_ cape flapping.

Cas arches a brow, watching him go with a sense of bemusement. He is about to shrug it off as one of the many quirks of his little boy, when in his stomach; he feels a stab of concern.

“Eugene,” he calls, trusting his instinct. He moves to lean against the bathroom doorframe.

Eugene pauses, hand hovering mid-air as it was extending to hold on to the balustrade. “Yeah, Pa?”

“Is something the matter?”

Eugene shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He is nervous. “The door’s open.”

“The door?” Cas straightens. “Do you mean, the _front door_? Did you open it?” he questions, eyes narrowed.

“No!” Eugene denies, and Cas can hear the sincerity in the boy’s voice.

Cas freezes, struck dumb with apprehension.

A tremor assaults his body. He steels himself, scenarios playing through his head. Has someone broken in? Why? Perhaps the lock is simply broken, though he doubts that. Cas shakes himself out of his stupor and closes in on Eugene, who is waiting at the top of the stairs. Eugene grabs a fistful of Cas’ trouser material and looks up at his father with trepidation. Cas scoops Eugene up in his arms. His arms shield Eugene in their embrace.

“Pa,” Eugene wraps his arms round Cas’ neck. “What—?”  
  
Cas shushes him, expression stern.  
  
Eugene bites down on his trembling bottom lip. Before he begins his descent, Cas presses a chaste kiss to his son’s cheek for comfort.  
  
Taking each step down slow, he tiptoes, attempting to be as quiet as possible. The timber creaks a few times, making him internally wince. At reaching the ground floor, he sees the front door. It _is_ open. Marginally. But nonetheless… Cas’ eyes scan for any signs of anything out of the ordinary. He walks cautiously toward the lounge room.

Eugene suddenly goes rigid in his arms and screams at something— at someone— behind them.

Taken by surprise, Cas spins around and stumbles backward, heart in his throat. His stomach plummets. He gapes in confusion, momentarily frozen.

“Nicholas,” Cas breathes out in disbelief, reeling as the recognition hits him. His clutch on Eugene tightens. Panic settles like a cold stone inside of his chest.

Nicholas lashes out, and Cas flinches, afraid for Eugene and his ability to protect him. He narrowly misses the strike. It has been years since he had needed to resort to violence. And his reflexes are not what they used to be.

He needs help.

Nicholas advances, and Cas turns and runs. He enters the kitchen and throws a chair between them. Eugene cries into the crook of Cas’ neck. Swiping the phone from the bench, he dials 911.

Nicholas yanks him backward, by the collar. Abruptly, Cas stops and chokes. The fabric of his shirt constricts his neck. Eugene slips from Cas’ grip.

“ _Papa_! No, Pa!” his son bawls. “PAPA!”

Nicholas winds his arms round Cas, immobilizing him. A cloth is placed over his mouth and nose before he has the chance to tell Eugene to run. His shouting is muffled as he struggles— kicking and thrashing as much as he can. But it is futile. When Cas eventually loses consciousness, his last thought is of Eugene.

 

_NOW_

“Mr. Novak—”

“Please, sir, calm down. You have to relax!”

 _No. No. I need my Eugene. My baby. Nicholas has him. I know it._ Cas clenches his fist, fingernails digging crescents into the skin of his palm.  
  
The pain causes him to focus. It brings him to the now, and the obvious complication of his breathing difficulty. He listens to the nurses’ voices and follows their instructions. In due course, his body yields and adapts to the tube down his throat. However, the effort was exhausting and Cas finds himself now fighting sleep. But he is tired. So very tired. But before drifting into unconsciousness, he makes himself a promise.  
  
That no matter the consequences and no matter the losses, he will save his son.

 

~*DEAN*~

 

“Mr. Novak was transferred to his own room from the ER. He’s stable and sleeping at the moment,” the nurse tells Dean as he leads him through the hospital corridors. “He’s also intubated—”

“What does that mean?” Dean asks.

“Due to smoke inhalation, he needs some help breathing, so he has a tube down his throat. Don’t worry. We’ll be monitoring him.”

“How long will he have the tube thing?” Dean asks, hand going to his throat, imagining what it’d be like.

“As soon as he can breathe by himself, and get enough oxygen,” the nurse replies crisply.

“What about his burns?” Dean questions. “How bad is it? I mean— I saw it but—”

They stop at a particular door and the nurse turns to face Dean, hazel eyes sympathetic. “I can tell you this: he was damn lucky. Only first and second degree burns. He’ll heal in time.”

Nodding, concern pools in Dean’s stomach.

“Remember, Mr. Smith, visiting hours are over at eight o’clock,” the nurse says, opening the door for him.

Dean peers inside and replies, “Sure. Thanks.”

But like hell he’s following that rule.  
  
He’s going to be staying by Cas’ side for as long as possible. The light from the hall spills into the dimly lit room. Recognizing the shape of Cas in the cot, Dean enters silently. It is here, in this sterile environment that Dean realizes that he smells vaguely of smoke. He did not have the time to change, let alone have a shower.

The police had questioned him, and he told them everything he knew. The fireman, Benny, relayed the information about how they found Cas ‘trussed up’ and all. Dean has so many questions, with no means of answering them just yet. Charlie had arrived and handled the situation well, spurring Dean into action. Without her, Dean might have stayed put on the ground with the cat for hours after. Charlie took Spook from him, promising to take care of her, and he sneezed his goodbyes. Straight after that, Dean rushed to the hospital.

And, so, here he is.

“Cas, you awake?” Dean’s voice cracks as he approaches Cas.

He sees the tube the nurse spoke of, which disappears into Cas’ open mouth. It’s only when he notices that his hands are shaking that he realizes how fucking terrified he is. Dean touches bandaged Cas’ hand, fingers skimming over his knuckles, remembering how smooth and unblemished they had felt. He wonders what they’ll be like after the bandages are removed. Tracing the sharp edge of Cas’ hospital bracelet, Dean reads: _Novak, Castiel James_ and _1980-9-19._ Dean feels an odd pang in his chest as he realizes that this is how he learns what Cas’ middle name is and when his birthday is. Dean drags a chair over and falls into it.

“You’re five years older then me, huh, Cas?” he says aloud. “I bet you’re the type who’ll use that ‘respect your elders’ line against me.”

Cas doesn’t reply. But Dean doesn’t mind, because right now, he’s glad that Cas is still here— alive. Unlike… Dean’s bottom lip wobbles and his eyes sting with tears.

“Cas, I…” he begins, but falters as a lump forms in his throat. He glances at Cas’ face, expression soft and at peace.

_How do I tell him?_

*

 

At nine thirty, Dean finds himself outside the hospital, dialing a number he has known for as long as he could remember.

“ _Hello?”_

Dean draws in a deep breath. “Hey, Mom, it’s me.”

“ _Dean?”_ Ellen Singer asks, confusion coloring her tone.

“Yeah, Mom, I… I…” Dean swallows hard. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you because…”

Ellen cuts in, “ _Honey, I can barely hear you— is something wrong?”_

“Sorry,” Dean clears his throat and wipes at his eyes. “So, uh, how are you and Dad?” he asks.

“ _Alright. Still kicking,_ ” Ellen replies. “ _Bobby’s still crabby as ever._ ”

Through the phone, Dean hears an indignant shout in the background and a, “ _I heard that, woman!”_

“ _Ah, shut up, you old coot,”_ Ellen says drily.

“ _I may be getting old, but I ain’t deaf!”_

“ _Not yet,_ ” Ellen murmurs.

“ _What!?”_ Bobby squawks in the distance.

“ _Nothin’! Your damn son’s on the phone, Robert, and I’m trying to talk to him! Christ. So what were you sayin’, Dean, hon?”_

Dean smiles at his adopted parents’ antics. “I was just calling, y’know. See how things are.”

“ _U-huh,_ ” Ellen sounds skeptical.

“Listen, have I… Have I talked to you about Cas before?” Dean feels terrible about having to ask.

“ _No? ‘Cas’?”_ Ellen questions.

“Cas and I are together,” Dean tells her.

Ellen makes a disbelieving noise. “ _You tellin’ me you got yourself a boyfriend?”_

“Ah. Yeah,” Dean answers.

“ _Well, shit,”_ Ellen says bluntly. “ _Hey, Bobby! Some guy named ‘Cas’ has pinned our boy down!”_

Bobby shouts back, “ _Ain’t that a miracle!”_

Ellen laughs, sounding hysterical.

“Come on, it’s not that big of a deal…” Dean flusters, fiddling with his shirt buttons. “A-And that’s not what I called about, anyway.”

Ellen’s laughter dies instantly. “ _What? Something_ is _wrong, isn’t it?”_

“Yeah,” Dean sinks down to the concrete, his back grazing the wall behind him. “I just needed to call. Hear your voices. It’s been a tough night.”

“ _What happened? Something at work?”_ Ellen questions.

Dean laughs bitterly. “I don’t give a shit about work right now. It’s— Cas, Mom. His house burned down and his son, this cute little guy named Eugene, he…” he breaks off with a dry sob. It’s all a blur now— just flashing images of the smoke, the burning house, of Cas on the gurney and his pleading bloodshot eyes.

That fireman’s voice is as clear as bell in his mind.

_“We didn’t find anyone else.”_

Dean covers his eyes with his hand and draws in a deep, calming breath. “Mom, Cas doesn’t know.”

“ _Oh God. I’m so sorry… Uh, is he in hospital?”_

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “Sleeping.”

Ellen hums. “ _Well, honey, as soon as he wakes up, you gotta tell him. Trust me on this, it’s best if he found out from you than some ass in a uniform. Y’hear?”_

“Loud ‘n clear, Mom,” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will, obviously. I just— don’t know— how to deal with this. I don’t know how Cas is…” he exhales heavily, eyes wet.

“ _Dean, do you need one of us to be there with you?”_ Ellen asks, voice softer than what he’s used to. “ _You don’t need to answer right away. Take some time off. Look after yourself and your boy, alright? Have some rest and wait for your Cas to wake up, because that’s all you can do right now.”_

“You’re right, as usual,” Dean smiles slightly, the grip on his phone tightening just a little. The homesickness he usually pushes to the back of his mind, seeps into his bones and makes him even more so weary.

“I miss you, Mom. And Dad,” he says. “Even that little brat Joanna Beth.”

Suddenly Bobby Singer’s voice comes through the phone. “ _Door’s always open for you, son.”_

Dean sniffles. “Thanks, Dad. I’m such a mess right now, crying everywhere, God. Sorry.”

“ _There’s nothing wrong about crying,”_ Bobby says.

“Nah. Crying is for bitches,” Dean says jokingly, laughing wetly.

“ _Dean,”_ Ellen admonishes the same time Bobby goes, “ _Attaboy.”_

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

There is someone holding his hand when Cas wakes up the following morning. He feels comfort from the warmth of their fingers, which are wrapped around his. Their thumb is pressing gently into the palm of his hand.  
  
Cas yawns, throat sandpapery and chest achy.  
  
The feeling of that tube down his throat remains, an unpleasant phantom. He stretches his limbs, only to freeze and hiss through his teeth as pain blossoms from all sides. His bandaged arms and torso itch and burn, as hot as the flames that had caused him to be here in the first place. Cas blinks away the grogginess along with the tears that spring to his eyes, thankful for the dimness of light in the room.

Dean is there, beside him, sound asleep and holding Cas’ hand. For a moment, Cas simply watches him. He doubts Dean is very comfortable with the way his is sitting; head resting on his arms which are propped on the mattress, body slumped forward. Yet the expression on his face is inexplicably serene.

Cas slips his hand free from his lover’s grip as he feels himself succumb to the urgency of finding Eugene.

What is he to do?

Sifting through the multitude of panic-induced ideas, he decides that calling the police would be the first logical step.

Dean suddenly shifts in his sleep, disturbing Cas’ train of thought. The sight of Dean’s hand clenching around nothing twinges the strings of Cas’ heart.

Cas reaches for Dean and pets his awry, ash brown hair. Butterflies flitter and flutter in his stomach at how soft it feels. His fingers move to massage Dean’s scalping, causing the other man hums, ever so softly, and snuffle. Something inside of Cas pulls.

 _You know what this feeling is_.

A slight tremble travels through his body. _No._ Cas pulls his hand away. Now is not the time to realize how far he has fallen for Dean. His son needs him. Eugene will always come first. Cas pats the mattress down, searching for the remote with the call button on it.  

“Mhmmm… Cas…?” Dean mumbles, eyelashes fluttering as he slowly wakes. He blinks lethargically at Cas, green eyes glossy with sleep.

“Dean,” Cas gives up his search of the remote and grips Dean’s shoulder. “I need you to get someone to help me. I need to get out of here, and—”

“Wait a sec, Cas, what do you mean?” Dean quickly sobers, frowning at the urgency in Cas’ tone. “I…” he pauses, visibly swallowing. “There’s something you need to know.”

“No, Dean, I need—”

“Listen, Cas,” Dean places his hand on Cas’ thigh and squeezes gently. Cas stares, mouth dropping in shock as tears fill Dean’s eyes. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

“Dean? Are you alright?” Cas questions, concern constricting round his throat. He cups the side of Dean’s face, thumb stroking his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Dean draws in a deep breath. “It’s Eugene. They couldn’t find him a-and so he’s… he…” he chokes on a dry sob. “Cas, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what to say.”

 _Of course._ Cas realizes numbly. _Dean doesn’t know about Nicholas. No one does. They all must think he died in the fire._

Cas’ heart collapses in on itself, seeing the state Dean is in. His insides twist with guilt because, who else believes his son to be gone? Who else is grieving? Cas wishes he could have done something more to save Eugene. But how could he have known something like this would happen to them?

“You’ve already gotten condolences flowers,” Dean wipes at his eyes, which are bloodshot and brimming with tears.

“Please,” Cas places his hand at Dean’s neck, feeling the erratic pulse. “Dean, stop. Eugene isn’t dead.”

Dean stares up at Cas, mouth open in shock. He looks away and shakes his head. “But Cas, he is,” his voice is thick with emotion. “No one got him out of the house.”

“No, look at me,” Cas take hold of Dean’s chin and tilts his head, their eyes meeting. “I realize how… insane this might sound. But Eugene was taken. There’s a possibility that he’s been…” he swallows hard at that because _no_ , he needs to have hope. Cas takes a deep breath. “The thing is, someone came into the house and I was incapacitated. I woke up to see my house burning down.”

“I—” Dean pauses, his eyes going round as realization dawns on his face. “Wait, you were tied up.”

Cas cocks his head. “What?”

“Benny, the fireman, he told me you were found tied up. They couldn’t find Eugene. Or any remains, from what I’ve heard so far,” Dean says. He fists at his hair, pulling away from Cas and leaning back in his chair. “You’re saying somebody _kidnapped_ Gene?”

“Yes,” Cas breathes, thankful Dean isn’t taking him for a lunatic.

Dean’s jaw clenches and a spark ignites in his eyes. “Do you know who?”

“Nicholas Kelly,” Cas replies immediately, involuntarily shuddering. He picks at the hospital blanket hem. “He’s April’s brother.”

“ _April._ As in your ex-wife,” Dean looks as if he is two seconds away from an aneurysm. “Gene’s Mom.”

Cas nods. “Gene has never met him. In fact, I only have spoken to him a few times. At our wedding. Various family events. I thought he was rather passive. Then I heard he had been sent to prison. I don’t know what for. But he’s obviously been released since and now…”

“Christ,” Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Cas, we have to go to the police or something to find— what was his name again?”

“Nicholas Kelly,” Cas says. He grows tense as he sees the blood drain from Dean’s face. “What?”

 “A Nicholas sent you flowers,” Dean says, voice barely louder than a whisper. Fear flickers over his features. “Could it be him?”

“Flowers,” Cas scans the room until his eyes land on a bouquet of flowers— deep red roses— on the far side of the room on a set of drawers. “Bring them to me.”

Dean pushes the chair out from under him and strides across the room. Warily, he picks up the box of roses and hands them to Cas. Cas rips the card attached to the box and turns it over. Handwritten, the first paragraph of the message reads:

_Aternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,_

_And let perpetoal liht shine upon them._

_May they rist in peace._

_Ameme._

“Ameme? Aternal?” Cas says aloud. “That’s not spelt right. Neither is perpetual, light or…” his breath hitches. “It’s a code, I think. The correct or missing letters must spell out something.”

“What does it spell out?” Dean asks, beginning to chew his fingernails.

“A has to be E, U instead of O. G. E. N. E,” Cas holds the card so hard it crinkles in his grip. He glances up at Dean, who looks back helplessly.

“Eugene,” they say together.

“Is there anything else?” Dean asks, wringing his hands.

Cas licks his chapped lips, heart thumping hard in his chest. “It asks, ‘Will you be planning the funeral in three days?’ Oh, Lord. N-No. I have three days.”

Dean inhales sharply. “Until what? What does he want? Fuck!” he punches the wall in a show of anger, which startles Cas.

Cas’ bottom lip wobbles, body and soul aching. Tears spring to his eyes and flow freely down his cheeks. The shock, the heartache. It’s proving to be too overwhelming for him. His throat tightens.

“I—” Cas gasps, clutching at chest. “I have to find him.”

He empties the box of roses out on to his laps, sending leaves and petals tumbling and dancing to the ground.

“There has to be a-another clue,” Cas tears through the box and the flowers, rational mind elsewhere and thoughts desperate. “I have to find him. He can’t die— he’s my everything. Dean, please, help me! Help me!”

Pain sears through Cas as Dean grabs his arms, where the majority of his healing burn wounds are. He shoves Dean away from him, unexpectedly hard, with what little strength he has at the moment. It surprises Dean, eyes wide and vulnerable-looking. His lover stumbles backward, smacking into the chair and gracelessly falling to the ground.

The silence after is unbearable.

A female nurse bursts into the room, no doubt having heard all the noise. Light and noise from outside pours in, and Cas flinches away from it.

“Is everything…” she trails off, seeing the mess of roses and Dean, still on the floor.

Cas wipes his eyes and eases back into the bed. “Everything’s fine,” he tells the nurse. Dean gets to his feet and turns the knocked-over chair upright.

“Can I please leave?” Cas asks, avoiding eye contact with Dean.

“Uh,” the nurse hesitates. “Let me grab a doctor for you, okay, hon? I’ll have Kate stay with you.” She ducks her head out and waves over another nurse, Kate.

“I’ll help clean up,” Kate says with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile. From the cupboard, she pulls out a small dust pan and brush. As she sweeps up the roses, or what’s left of them, Dean goes back to Cas’ side.

“Babe,” he says, and Cas turns his face away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says immediately. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Dean leans in and presses a kiss to Cas’ tear-stained cheek, so gentle and warm and soft. “I don’t know exactly how everything is going to pan out. But I want you to know that I’m going to be there for you, thick and thin. Come whatever. Okay?”

Cas nods, unable to speak.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Dean urges, tenderly running his fingers through Cas’ hair. “I’m not gonna leave you to deal with this on your own. You’re not alone.”

Cas meets those gorgeous green eyes of Dean’s, his own full of unshed tears. “Okay,” he chokes. “I’m sorry.”

Dean pulls him into a tentative, but warm, embrace. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

 

~*DEAN*~

 

“Make yourself at home,” Dean opens the door to his apartment for his boyfriend, smiling reassuringly.

Hesitating a moment, Cas returns the smile with his own subdued quirk of his lips. “I really don’t want to impose you,” he says once he steps inside.

“Forget it. I want you here with me,” Dean tells him as he shuts the door behind him and locks it. He guides Cas to the black leather couch in front of the fake fireplace. “Take a seat. How about I make us some lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Cas says and slowly eases himself on to the couch, winching in pain.

“You just relax,” Dean runs his hand over the top of Cas’ hair, finding comfort in knowing that he is in one piece.

His heart melts as Cas nuzzles into his hand, chasing his touch.

“You’re not allergic to anything are you?” he questions, thumb brushing over Cas’ cheekbone.

Cas shakes his head. “Only socializing.”

A smile tugs at Dean’s lips. “No socializing on your sandwich then,” he winks. With great difficulty, he pulls away and heads over to his kitchen space.

Making sandwiches is such a mundane thing to do and at such a time like this, Dean feels a little uncomfortable. It doesn’t help that his hands are trembling. All Dean wants is for Cas to feel loved, as corny as it sounds.

The guys before Cas… The good ones were allowed ten minutes cuddling after they’d had sex. Exceptional ones got an overnight stay. Cas is more than exceptional, and Dean can’t lose him.

The silence is unnerving he assembles the sourdough, lettuce, tomato and pickle relish. Dean bites his tongue to prevent any nervous babble they might surface. It’s strange, feeling this air of awkwardness around Cas.

Once the sandwiches are ready, Dean picks up the plates and returns to the couch where he deposited Cas.

“If it’s too much for you to look after me, I can always contact my family,” Cas tells Dean as he accepts one of the plates.

Dean releases an exasperated sigh as he sits down beside Cas. “It’s not too much at all. Come on, give me a chance,” he says and places his hand on Cas’ thigh. “It’s only been ten minutes.”

“I just don’t... I don’t want to burden you,” Cas’ voice quivers. “I have to find him and the last thing I want is for you to get caught in the middle of this— this— shit storm.”

Dean clenches his jaw.

Maybe Cas would rather someone else’s help over Dean’s. Maybe that's why he keeps on pushing this, pushing Dean away. Dean thought he’s made it clear he won’t be going anywhere. But even so, Dean has this fierce need to keep an eye on Cas. Perhaps it’s selfish but it feels like the right thing to do.

“You’re _not_ burdening me. I want to do this. I want to be with you, alright? Now shut up and eat,” Dean takes ginormous bites from his sandwich in quick succession, not wanting to talk anymore.

Cas fumbles with his sandwich, bandaged arms taut. A tomato slips out; a blob of relish hits the couch. Heart twinging, Dean abandons his own lunch, setting the plate down on the coffee table. He pries the rumpled sandwich from Cas’ stiff fingers, making a stern noise when Cas begins to protest. Cas deflates, defeated.

“Here,” with one hand, Dean holds the sandwich up to Cas’ lips.

“Dean,” Cas flushes and casts his eyes down.

“Eat up, come on. You need to,” Dean runs his other hand up and down Cas’ thigh. “Baby, please. I promise it’s tasty.”

Cas rolls his eyes and huffs, haughty. “Fine,” he grits out before craning forward and taking a bite.

Eventually, the tension between them relaxes. If only a little.

“Cas, I still really think we should call the police,” Dean says as he dusts his hands off, their lunch finished.

“I’m worried Nicholas might do something in retaliation,” Cas replies. “But first I need to call April.”

Dean chews his bottom lip. “D’you think she had something to do with it? Since he’s her brother and all. It just seems kind of obvious.”

“If she had, why would those flowers have been sent? Why the cryptic message? Eugene would have just been long gone, I think. No. It’s Nicholas and he’s… toying with me,” Cas spits out. “Making me wait for him to make the next move.”

“Here, you can use my phone,” Dean arches his back, reaching into his pants pocket for his cell.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says quietly. “For everything.”

“I just wish I could do more for you,” Dean tells him. He still doesn’t feel right about just _waiting_. He’s not impatient— he’s worried. But in the end, Eugene is not his child. It boils down to what Cas wants to do. And Dean should listen to him. Shouldn’t he? 

Throughout the afternoon, Cas makes several long phone calls. Dean busies himself with work, alternately watching re-runs of _Project Runway_ or _Dr. Sexy M.D._ and preparing for Cas’ stay.

Anything to keep his mind off of Eugene. The poor kid must be scared out of his mind. God knows where he is, with some creep. Dean shudders and focuses on the current task at hand, which is changing the sheets. He’s wrestling with the corners of the cover sheet when Cas enters.

“We had sex for the first time in here,” he announces.

Dean’s hand slips and his shoulder collides with the mattress. “Christ, Cas! Wear a bell.”

Cas audibly snorts. “On a collar? Kinky.”

Dean straightens, then turns to face Cas with a sly expression plastered on his face. “Oh, you don’t know half of it.”

Cas smiles and it’s genuine, albeit tired. He shifts from foot to foot, inexplicably nervous. “I was wondering if you could help me with my bandages. I’d liked to have a shower.”

“Oh,” Dean’s eyes are drawn to Cas’ arms where the gauze is mostly visible. “Sure. I’ll go get you a towel. Meet you at the bathroom?”

“Yes, and could you lend me some pajamas?” Cas asks, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Dean’s voice softens. “Of course.”

Neither of them talk as Cas eases out his clothes with Dean’s help. It’s a slow and intimate process, their bodies close and Dean’s hands gentle. After chucking his shirt into the laundry basket, Dean trails back of his hand down Cas’ bare front reassuringly before untying the slightly shorter man’s sweatpants. Cas shudders and his hands rest on Dean’s shoulders.

“You alright?” Dean murmurs, looking into Cas’ eyes. “I’m not hurting you?”

“Not at all,” Cas shakes his head.

Once Cas is naked, Dean reaches out and brushes his thumb on the jut of Cas’ pronounced hipbone. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing Cas nude and it obviously not leading to sex.

“I’m gonna take the bandages off now, okay?” Dean tells him, hands already busy with unravelling the gauze on Cas’ arm.

Stiffly, Cas nods.

Dean does it as quickly as possible, not wanting to draw out this torturous process. He doesn’t mind, but it’s clear that Cas does. With every stripe of burnt skin revealed, his lover grows tenser and tenser. Shoulders hunched, jaw clenched, a vein at his neck popping out. His blue eyes turn skyward, pointedly looking away from the splotchy red that mars his body.

“All done,” Dean announces as the last bandage is removed and joins the pile on the sink bench top.

“Thank you,” Cas says and turns to fiddle with the shower taps.

Dean makes an aborted movement to pat Cas’ back, blood going cold at the sight of the raised, mottled skin.

 _Oh God,_ Dean bites down on his lower lip, watching the muscles of Cas back flex. _If that is as painful as it looks…_

“Cas, I—” he starts, not sure what to say.

Cas sends Dean a glance over his shoulder, arching a brow.

“Do you need any more help? With, y’know,” Dean makes a gesture.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Cas says and there’s a special glimmer in his eyes. Dean’s heart swells.

It’s a little crowded in the shower together, especially since Dean is hyper-aware of how and where he touches Cas. There’s nothing sexual, but it feels just as good. It feels good to be so close to Cas, the man he’s come to love. The water is just right, pleasantly lukewarm. Cas ducks his head under the spray, dousing his dark mop of hair. Behind him, Dean runs his hands over his body, slippery with soap and water.

To Dean’s surprise, Cas begins to hum.

Just a few notes, something melancholy and familiar. A nostalgic twinge pinches Dean’s heart. Out of nowhere, Dean recalls that time he had spent the night at the Novak’s house after dinner with Eugene. He and Cas had been kissing, out of sight, in the kitchen.

_“Pa!?” Eugene calls from inside the living room, making them both startle away from each other. “Can we watch Wizard of Oz?”_

Cas had explained, _“He’s going through a phase… Charlie brought that movie with her when she was babysitting for us and Eugene fell in love with it.”_

Dean’s throat clicks.

That is the song Cas is humming. That iconic, wistful song.

Dean sidles closer to Cas, bodies almost touching. He can feel the heat off of Cas’ skin. Leaning forward, his hands rest on Cas’ waist and he presses a kiss to the other man’s neck. Cas stops humming and straightens, hand reaching out behind him to touch Dean. Their eyes meet through the water.

 

~*CASTIEL*~

 

Cas didn’t know what he had been expecting from Dean, but it certainly isn’t this. First, his lover smiles; a slight quirk of his lips. Expression unbearably fond. Second, Dean hums. A deep, melodious sound. The same tune Cas realizes that he had been humming subconsciously, moments ago. But what floors him, is when Dean opens his mouth and starts to sing.

“ _Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high…_ ”

Cas’ breath hitches and his eyes widen. Warm, angelic. Dean’s voice is a gift.

“ _There’s a land that I’ve heard of once in a lullaby._

_Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue._

_And the dreams that you dare to dream,_

_Really do come true.”_

With some difficulty, Cas turns around to be face-to-face with Dean. His chest is tight with emotion as he hangs on to every word let loose from Dean’s mouth.

“ _Someday,_ ” Dean brings their foreheads together, voice more confident “ _I’ll wish upon a star._

_And wake up where the clouds are far behind me._

_Where troubles melt like lemon drops,_

_High above the chimney tops,_

_That's where you’ll find me…”_

Cas’ heart flutters when Dean pauses to stoop to peck him on the lips. His face splits into a wide grin.

“ _Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly,_ ” Dean continues.

_“Birds fly over the rainbow,_

_Why then, oh why, can’t I?_

_If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow,_

_Why, oh why, can’t I?”_

 They share, yet another kiss, this one full of hope.

 

*

 

In the morning, when Cas wakes, he is in a soft cocoon of warmth and safety.

Snoring quietly beside him is Dean, limbs haywire, sprawled out. Cas is tucked into his chest. The spell is broken as the events of the past few days return to him, the fact that Eugene is gone, taunts him. Promptly alert, Cas gradually sits up and edges out of the bed. What does one do if one’s child is kidnapped? Yesterday he had told Dean that his plan was to wait for Nicholas to make the next move. How long will will he have to wait? What if that monster has already tried to contact him? Both his phones, cell and home, were destroyed in the fire. No way could Nicholas know about Dean or that he was staying with him.

 _E-mails,_ Cas realizes.

It’s one of the most convenient way to contact someone nowadays. It was worth worth a shot to take the time to check it out. Swinging his legs off of the bed, Cas glances around. A laptop on top of the bedside table, charger plugged into the wall, catches his eye. It has to be Dean’s. Cas twists around, only to have his back flare with white hot pain. He blinks through the tears and carefully moves to face Dean.

Reaching out, he shakes Dean’s arm. “Dean,” he says. “Dean? Can I borrow your laptop?”

Dean huffs, sleepily. “Mmph. Sure, love,” he mumbles and turns on to his stomach. “Whatever you want.”

At that moment, a mobile phone ring tone peals. Both Cas and Dean jolt. Cas picks up Dean’s vibrating and chiming phone from atop of bedside set of drawers. He reads to caller ID.

“It’s Uncle Zachariah,” Cas tells Dean, holding it out to him.

Groaning, Dean flops around like a fish out of water. “Noooo.”

Amusement tugs at Cas’ lips. “Dean. You should—” 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Dean rasps and finally manages to get upright. He takes his phone and answers it. “Hello?”

Cas switches his focus on to Dean’s laptop. He unplugs it and shifts the device on to his lap. Opening the lid, the screen displays the login window. From over Cas’ shoulder, Dean reaches over and types into it. Cas takes the opportunity to kiss Dean on the cheek, but he doesn’t get a reaction.

“Yes, sir,” Dean speaks into his phone, brow puckered. “Mr. Adler, I understand. Yes, I know. Missing a meeting is appalling. I’m extremely sorry. Well, no. I’m not sick. No, I’m not dying. No, sir.”

With a spark of irritation for his uncle, Cas purposefully moves into Dean’s space and says clearly, “Good morning, Uncle.”

“Cas!” Dean gasps. “What the hell!?”

“He should know,” Cas shrugs and clicks on Google.

“But—” Dean pauses and stands, beginning to pace. “Uh, yes, Mr. Adler. Castiel. No, well I… You introduced us, technically.”

Chuckling, Cas types in his email address and password. He hopes Dean won’t get too much heat from his uncle, but if he does, Cas will definitely see to it.

“Cas, he wants to speak with you,” Dean tells him.

“One moment,” Cas says, squinting at his Inbox. Three new messages. One unknown contact. Nausea hits Cas in a violent bout. He stares at the screen with wide, horrified eyes.

**_Subject: I hope you liked the flowers._ **

“Oh my God,” Cas puts a hand to his mouth.

“Sir, can I call you back?” Dean quickly says and hangs up, sitting himself down beside Cas. “What is it? Did he…” he trails off, looking at the laptop screen.

For Cas, the world narrows. It is almost like an out-of-body experience; the way he can’t seem to feel anything but the computer on his lap or hear anything but the sound of his own, harsh breathing.

 

**To: Castiel Novak**

**From: unknown**

 

**Hello Castiel.**

**I hope you are well. How is the weather? I hear it got quite hot the other day.**

**If you want to meet up, alone, then how about we discuss a time and place?**

**Have you heard about the abandoned subway? You know how I’m quite the history nut. Can’t quite let go of the past.**

**Midday? Tomorrow?**

**Our mutual friend misses you dearly.**

**N.**

 

 

 


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